THE  APTEH-SCHOOL   .^EHIES. 


UEJHHHMUUIMiWMtiMiill 

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m0tmlml^>ltrmy>r^ml|f^ \" ■nimmmir)(t!.»i»mttit '  iiinimi fin  m «'  n'v  - 


LATIN    COURSE  IN  ENGLISH 


i»ii-m-iiMin)i« ii»i»iiniifiiwitii)MinwtirnfiBI>iiiiM)MlMMmiiiirMiiMf«iiinfrmiB  firTiiii ili'nn 


LLIAM    CLEiWEH    WILKINSON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  AFTER-SCHOOL  SERIES. 


BY  WILLIAM  CLEAVER  WILKINSON. 


PREPARATORY  GREEK  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 
PREPARATORY  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 
COLLEGE  GREEK  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 
COLLEGE  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 

A  FREE  LANCE.    (A  VOLUME  OF  ESSAYS.) 

WEBSTER;   AN  ODE.    WITH  NOTES. 

POEMS. 

THE  DANCE  OF  MODERN  SOCIETY. 

EDWIN  ARNOLD  AS  POETIZER  AND  AS  PAGANIZER. 


FOR   SALE    BY 

THK    CHAUTAUQUA    PRESS, 

805  Broadway,  New  York. 


THE   AFTER-SCHOOL  SERIES. 


COLLEGE 


LATIN    COURSE 


IN   ENGLISH. 


BY 

WILLIAM   CLEAVER^WILKINSON. 


TENTH   THOUSAND. 


NEW  YORK: 

c  H  A  u  t'a  uqua   press, 

■^,    \^       C.  L.  S.  C.  Department. 


The  required  books  of  the  C.  L.  S.  C.  are  recommended  by 
a  Council  of  six.  It  must,  however,  be  understood  tliat  recom- 
mendation does  not  involve  an  approval  by  the  Council,  or  by 
any  member  of  it,  of  every  principle  or  doctrine  contained  in  tlie 
book  recommended. 


Copyright  1885,  by  Phillips  &  Hunt,  805  Broadway,  New  \'ork. 


GOOH 


PREFACE. 


With  the  present  volume  we  bring  to  its  completion  a 
series  of  four  books,  projected  for  the  purpose  of  making 
accessible  to  English  readers,  in  their  own  tongue,  the  treas- 
ures of  Greek  and  Latin  letters,  as  these  treasures  are  dis- 
closed to  the  average  American  student  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  school  and  college  education. 

The  preparation  of  this  series  of  books  has  happened  to 
coincide  in  time  with  vivid  public  discussion,  experiencing 
its  irregularly  periodic  revival  among  us,  of  the  question 
whether  after  all  classical  culture  ought  not  to  be  regarded 
now  as  a  thing  that  has  had  its  day.  The  fact  of  such  discus- 
sion, rife  anew  at  just  this  moment,  may  well  awaken  in  the 
present  writer's  mind  a  somewhat  serious  consideration. 
Has  he  perhaps  been  doing  work  for  the  past  rather  than 
for  the  future.!*  Is  modern  interest  in  ancient  classic  liter- 
ature doomed  presently  to  be  extinguished  .'*  What,  as  to 
this  point,  are  the  signs  of  the  times  } 

There  is  no  disguising  the  fact  that  Greek  and  Latin  are 
yielding  some  ground  that  once  was  theirs  in  the  schools 
and  the  colleges.  At  Harvard,  for  example,  it  has  been 
proposed  that  Greek  shall  no  longer  be  made  a  study  indis- 
pensable for  admission  to  full  standing  in  the  classes.  This 
change  established,   a  Harvard   student   might    perhaps    at 


6  Preface. 

graduation  know  nothing  whatever  of  Greek,  The  precedent 
— should  the  example  be  set,  and  should  it  become  a  prece- 
dent— would  no  doubt  commence  an  important  innovation. 
The  influence,  however,  to  depress  Greek  culture,  would  not 
be  so  great  as  might  at  first  be  imagined.  The  chief  diff"er- 
ence  would  be  only  that  those  students  would  freely  neglect 
Greek,  who,  under  the  system  of  compulsion,  would  learn  it 
reluctantly.  Such  learners,  probably,  would  never  under  any 
circumstances  become  good  Greek  scholars.  They  would 
grow  up  to  hate  Greek  study,  and  to  talk  against  it.  Meantime, 
students  that  really  wish  to  learn  Greek  would  do  so  as  under 
the  old  plan.  It  is  out  of  the  ranks  of  these  students  that 
good  Greek  scholars  will  come,  in  the  future,  as  has  been  the 
case  in  the  past.  There  would  then  be  this  positive  gain  to  the 
cause  of  Greek  culture,  that  there  would  be  nobody  to  speak  ill 
of  it — nobody,  that  is,  having  the  authority  of  ostensible  quali- 
fication to  do  so.  Sound  Greek  scholarship,  enlightened  in- 
terest in  Greek  literature,  will  thus  lose  little,  and  they  will 
certainly  stand  a  chance  of  gaining  something,  by  the  change 
of  Greek  from  a  compulsory  to  an  elective  study  whether  in 
school  or  college.  It  will  simply  mark  a  new  importation  of 
good  common  sense  into  the  business  of  liberal  education — a 
place  in  which,  always,  that  not  too  abundant  quality  is  as 
much  needed  as  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  Wise  friends 
of  Greek  learning  find,  therefore,  small  occasion  of  fear  in 
the  prevalent  tendency  to  leave  Greek  open  to  election  or 
rejection  at  the  will  of  the  student.  There  is,  however,  in 
this  tendency  a  reason  why  earnest  efforts  should  be  put 
forth  to  make  the  choice  of  students  judicious.  The  present 
series  of  books  will,  it  is  hoped,  contribute  something  to  dif- 


Preface.  7 

fuse  that  general  intelligence  on  the  subject  which  is  neces- 
sary in  order  to  making  the  atmosphere  of  public  opinion 
favorable  to  the  right  tendency  in  choosing. 

Over  against  the  apparent  loss  thus  admitted  to  have  be- 
fallen the  cause  of  classic  studies,  is  to  be  set  a  positive  gain 
that  more  than  compensates.  Colleges  for  the  education  ©f 
women  are  multiplying  Greek  and  Latin  students  among  the 
gentler  sex.  Classic  culture  is  thus  unobservedly  getting  a 
new  lease  of  life  in  this  country.  And  the  not  very  remote 
eventual  result  is  destined  to  be  incalculably  large.  For, 
through  the  influence  exerted  by  the  cultivated  future  moth- 
ers of  the  land,  it  may  with  confidence  be  expected  that  the 
coming  generations  of  children  will  furnish  a  much  more 
numerous  proportion  of  students  that  will  choose  Greek  and 
Latin,  than  could  at  present  be  counted  in  our  colleges. 

Another  very  significant  fact  pointing  toward  the  persist- 
ence of  classical  studies  at  our  seats  of  higher  education  is 
supplied  in  the  result  recently  reached  in  Germany  of  an 
experiment  tried  with  a  view  to  the  permanent  relinquish- 
ment of  Greek  and  Latin  in  the  course  appointed  to  be  pur- 
sued by  scientific  students.  These  students,  by  exception, 
were  recently,  for  a  term  of  years,  permitted  to  proceed 
without  the  preliminary  training  in  Greek  and  Latin  that 
had  before  been  obligatory  upon  all  university  students  alike. 
But  the  experiment  proved  unsatisfactory  in  its  results,  and 
the  authorities  published  an  elaborate  report  to  the  effect 
that  scientific  students  in  whose  preparatory  training  the 
classic  languages  had,  with  a  view  to  their  greater  advan- 
tage, been  omitted,  turned  out — so  far  from  being  profited 
by  the  omission — to  be  not  capable  of  even  holding  their  own 


8  Preface. 

in  scientific  pursuits  with  their  fellow-students  that  had  been 
previously  drilled  in  Greek  and  Latin. 

Once  again.  At  the  self-same  moment  at  which,  on  the 
one  hand,  so  much  is  getting  said  against  Greek  and  Latin, 
there  is  too,  on  the  other  hand,  an  activity,  perhaps  quite  un- 
paralleled, exhibited  in  the  cultivation  of  those  languages. 
This  is  to  be  seen  in  the  multiplication  of  translations  into 
English  of  the  great  Greek  and  Latin  authors — translations 
executed  with  an  exactness  of  scholarship  joined  to  a  finish 
of  style  in  composition,  transcending  any  standard  previously 
established  for  such  work.  Besides  this,  learned  editions  of 
Greek  and  Latin  texts  are  now  issuing,  especially  from  the 
English  press,  such,  in  number,  in  variety,  and  in  elegance  of 
form,  as  to  constitute  a  token  of  favor  with  the  public,  highly 
reassuring  to  the  lover  of  the  ancient  classics. 

The  late  brilliant  production  at  Harvard — Harvard,  the 
supposed  radiant  center  itself  of  reactionary  influence  against 
classical  studies — of  a  Greek  tragedy  in  the  original  language, 
witnessed  by  a  crowded  frequence  of  spectators  drawn  to- 
gether from  far  and  near ;  this,  and  a  highly  successful  ex- 
hibition, following  this,  of  a  play  of  Terence  at  Ann  Arbor 
in  its  primitive  Latin,  with  the  still  more  recent,  and  cer- 
tainly not  less  remarkable,  presentation  in  St.  Louis,  by  the 
young  women  of  Washington  University,  of  a  Roman  com- 
edy, given  in  the  mother-tongue  of  Plautus,  its  author — these 
things,  we  submit,  are  not  to  be  interpreted  as  signs  that  the 
cultivation  of  the  speech  of  Greece  or  of  Rome  is  very  rap- 
idly dying  out  among  us.  Then  there  is  what  significance 
belongs  to  the  regular  issue — begun  not  long  ago,  but  steadily 
prospering — of  an  American  monthly  magazine  in  Latin,  Za^^V^^, 


Preface.  9 

edited  with  spirit  and  scholarship,  and  published  under  amply 
encouraging  auspices.  Professor  Shumvvay's  little  monograph, 
"Latin  Synonymes,"  just  brought  out  in  this  country,  is  one 
of  those  specialist  works,  the  appearance  of  which  in  any 
community  unmistakably  indicates  existing  in  that  commu- 
nity an  interest  in  the  subject  treated — indicates  such  in- 
terest and  stimulates  such  interest.  New  lexicons,  both  of 
Greek  and  Latin — superb  volumes,  prepared  with  vast  labor 
and  expense — have  very  lately  been  given  to  the  American 
public,  and  that  fact  means  something.  Not  to  be  overlooked 
is  the  movement,  already  with  a  history,  and  yearly  gathering 
strength,  that  maintains  an  American  school  in  Athens  itself, 
expressly  to  provide  for  students  sojourning  there  the  op- 
portunity to  study  that  "  dead  language,"  on  the  spot  where — 
for  all  the  ill-omened  adjective  "dead  "  persistently  dogging 
it — the  Greek  language  still  prolongs  its  unquenchable  life. 

Finally,  it  is  to  be  said  that  there  is  now  at  work  a  new 
force  for  popular  culture  destined  to  exert  no  small  propor- 
tion of  influence  in  continuing,  if  not  perpetuating,  among 
Americans,  the  prosecution  of  classical  studies.  We  refer  to 
the  Chautauqua  Literary  and  Scientific  Circle.  This 
is  a  movement,  or  institution — which  shall  we  call  it }  if  it  is 
not  itself  a  movement,  it  certainly  creates  movement — de- 
signed to  increase  popular  culture,  botli  by  broadening  it  in 
its  base,  and  by  building  it  higher.  The  prosperity  of  the 
Chautauqua  Literary  and  Scientific  Circle  has  been  remark- 
able. Within  the  few  years  of  its  existence  it  has,  chiefly 
from  among  classes  of  persons  that,  but  for  its  influence, 
would  have  undertaken  noticing  of  the  sort,  engaged  readers, 
to  be  numbered  by  hundreds  of  thousands,  (or  at  least  by 


ro  Preface. 

scores  of  thousands  added  to  a  hundred  thousand,)  in  a 
course  of  reading  in  which  the  authors  of  ancient  Greece 
and  Rome  are  largely  represented.  The  interest  thus  awak- 
ened in  classic  studies  has  been  vivid.  Some  men  of  mature 
years  have  been  incited  to  commence  learning  the  classic 
languages  for  themselves.  It  is  not  extravagant  to  expect 
that  the  ultimate  influence  of  this  movement  for  extending 
popular  culture  will  report  itself  in  augmented  numbers  of 
applicants  for  admission  to  college,  animated  beforehand 
with  a  fixed  purpose  to  prosecute  within  college  walls  the 
cultivation  of  Greek  and  Latin  studies. 

Altogether,  the  prospect  is  not  gloomy  for  tlie  future  of 
classical  studies  in  America.  This  After-school  Series  of 
books  is  not  an  anachronism.  It  has  a  mission,  and  its  mis- 
sion is  not  to  ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause.  Our  readers 
may  confidently  feel  that  what  they  find  here  deals  with 
matter  that  will  interest  many  generations  to  come,  as  it  has 
already  interested  many  generations  past.  The  human  mind 
will  have  to  be  constituted  otherwise  than  as  it  is,  before  it 
ceases  to  be  concerned  with  its  own  former  history.  And 
that  history,  be  sure,  is  inextricably  intertwined  with  the 
languages  in  which  two  great  perished  nations  of  mankind  did 
their  thinking,  their  speaking,  and  their  writing. 


CONTENTS. 


-♦♦•♦- 


I.  Page 

Li  VY 13 

II. 
Tacitus 64 

III. 
Plautus  and  Terence 122 

IV. 
Lucretius 154 

V. 
Horace 1 73 

VL 
Juvenal 215 

VII. 
Cicero  (as  Man  of  Letters) 231 

VIIL 
Pliny 274 

IX. 
Quintilian 291 

Appendix. ■ 313 

Index 323 


Uttstoti0n5. 


*♦« 

PAGE 

Map  of  Ancient  Rome Frontispiece 

Hamilcar 23 

Hannibal 25 

Fabius 40 

Nero  as  Apollo 7^ 

Popp.-E  A 84 

Agrippina 90 

OCTAVIA 100 

Seneca no 

Vespasian 116 

CoRBULO 121 

Nero 121 

Terence i43 

M^cenas 177 

Regulus 196 

Augustus 202 

Horace 214 

Cicero  (profile) 232 

Cicero 241 

SciPio 265 

HORTENSIUS 318 

N.  B.— Tlic  stamp  on  the  c'over  represents  the  "  Hall  in  the  Grove  "  at  Chautauqua. 


COLLEGE 

LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH, 


I. 

LIVY. 

LiVY  is  not  the  earliest  of  Roman  writers.  The  earliest 
Roman  writers  have  perished  from  memory  in  almost  every 
thing  save  their  names.  Livy  is  not  even  the  earliest  of 
Roman  writers  that  still  survive  in  their  works.  For  begin- 
ning, however,  here  with  Livy,  some  reason  exists  in  the  fact 
that  he,  though  not  himself  the  earliest  of  extant  Roman 
writers,  and  not  the  earliest  of  extant  Roman  writers  of  his- 
tory, is  yet  the  earliest  extant  Roman  writer  of  history  to 
make  the  whole  story  of  Rome  a  theme  for  his  pen.  Who- 
ever would  know  from  Rome  herself  how  Rome  commenced, 
and  for  many  generations  pursued,  her  career,  must  go  to 
Livy  to  get  his  information.  If  not,  then,  on  account  of  his 
own  historical  position,  at  least  on  account  of  his  historical 
subject  and  treatment,  Livy  seems  the  right  author  to  place 
here  at  the  head  of  our  list. 

Of  Livy  the  man  little  is  known,  except  that  he  wrote  one 
of  the  most  delightful  histories  in  the  world.  To  him,  more 
perhaps  than  to  any  other  writer,  is  due  the  traditional  fame 
of  the  Romans  for  traits  of  high  character.  Roman  virtue  is 
not  wholly  a  figment  of  fancy;  for  of  virtue,  in  the  antique 
sense  of  that  word,  the  Romans,  with  the  Spartans,  certainly 
possessed  a  large  share.  But  Livy  is  of  all  men  the  man  who 
supplies  t!ie  historic  or  mytliologic  material  out  of  which  the 


14  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

current  lofty  ideal  of  Roman  character  has  been  constructed. 
Cato  lived  before  Livy.  If  he  had  not,  there  is  one  memo- 
rable complaint  of  his  that  he  would  not  have  needed  to 
make.  Cato  said  that  there  were  Roman  stories  as  well 
worthy  of  immortal  remembrance  as  any  stories  told  of  the 
Greeks — there  wanted  only  to  Rome  the  genius  of  some 
great  writer  to  tell  those  stories  properly.  That  occasion  of 
reproach  Livy  took  away.  Hardly  has  any  Greek  historian 
surpassed  for  Greece  the  romantic  interest  and  charm  with 
which  Livy  has  invested  the  tale  of  royal  and  republican 
Rome.  What  remains  to  us  of  Livy  is  endeared  to  our  ap- 
preciation by  the  fact  that  it  is  so  small  a  part  of  the  precious 
whole  work  that  he  produced. 

Ti'tus  Liv'i-us  Pat-a-vi'nus  we  know  was  born  at  Pad'u-a, 
in  Italy.  His  last  name  was  derived  from  the  original  Latin 
designation,  Pa-taVi-um,  for  that  city.  He  was  the  great 
prose  poet  of  the  reign  of  Augustus.  Horace  and  Virgil 
were  coevals  of  his.  He  was  a  boy  of  fifteen  years  when 
Coesar  fell  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue.  Livy  enjoyed 
great  contemporary  fame.  There  was  no  lordlier  literary  lion 
in  the  metropolis  than  he.  The  story  is  told  of  a  Spaniard 
of  Cadiz  that  made  the  journey  to  the  capital  expressly 
to  set  his  eyes  on  the  brilliant  recounter  of  the  glories  of 
Rome.  It  is  good  to  think  that  there  was  then  in  the  world 
enough  of  generous  enthusiasm  for  letters  to  give  such  a 
story  currency. 

Besides  being  an  historian,  Livy  was  something  of  a  plii- 
losopher.  The  things,  however,  that  he  wrote  as  philosoph£r 
survive  only  in  the  mention  of  Sen'e-ca.  The  two  functions, 
that  of  philosopher  and  that  of  historian,  he  kept  quite  dis- 
tinct.    He  did  not  write  history  philosophically. 

Livy's  history  was  a  majestic  work,  covering  the  whole 
subject  of  the  fortunes  of  Rome  from  the  founding  of  the 
city  down  almost  to  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era. 
What  an  epic  in  prose  was  there  !     But  of  the  hundred  and 


Livy.  1 5 

fifiy-two  books  in  which  the  work  was  written,  only  thirty- 
five  books  remain.  What  we  have  is  highly  interesting;  but 
what  we  have  not,  as  well  in  quality  as  in  quantity,  would  be 
a  far  more  precious  possession.  We  have  lost  we  know  not 
what ;  but  we  guess  with  certainty  that  Livy's  account  of  the 
Italian  War  and  his  account  of  the  Civil  War  between  Marius 
and  Sulla,  which  are  among  the  many  things  missing,  would 
have  thrown  on  those  great  chapters  of  Roman  story  such 
a  light  as  now  is  not  to  be  collected  from  all  other  sources 
taken  together.  When  the  lost  books  of  Livy  were  lost, 
is  not  known.  The  popes  were  at  one  time  against  the 
historian — of  all  things  in  the  world,  because  he  told  super- 
stitious tales  !  Some  of  the  popes,  it  is  said,  destroyed  every 
thing  of  Livy  that  fell  under  their  hands.  Dis-ra'el-i  the  elder, 
in  his  "  Curiosities  of  Literature,"  has  a  tantalizing  anecdote 
to  the  effect  that  a  man  of  letters  once  found,  wrought  into  a 
battledore  with  which  he  was  playing,  a  page  of  the  missing 
part  of  Livy.  Before  the  scholar  could  get  to  him  to  arrest 
the  vandalism,  the  battledore-maker  had  already  used  up  the 
last  fragment  of  the  whole  inestimable  manuscript.  There 
are  not  a  few  other  anecdotes  current  in  literary  history 
about  the  lost  books  of  Livy;  but  the  one  thing  certain  is 
that  three  quarters  of  the  work  exists  only  in  epitomes — for- 
tunately executed  by  some  painstaking  hand  while  the  origi- 
nal still  lived  in  the  world  of  letters. 

Livy  apparently  published  his  work  in  installments.  He 
must  have  been  occupied  not  less  than  twenty  years  in  the 
composition.  This  we  gather  from  the  fact  that  in  the  last 
parts  of  the  history  there  are  events  recorded  that  did  not 
take  place  until  some  twenty  years  subsequently  to  the  issue 
of  the  first  installment.  The  history  has  been  divided  up 
into  sets  of  books,  ten  each  in  number,  hence  called  "dec- 
ades." The  thirty-five  books  that  remain  give  us  the  first 
decade,  the  third,  and  the  fourth,  entire,  with  half  of  the 
fifth.     There  are  detached  fragments  from  the  rest. 


1 6  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

The  first  decade  deals  with  about  five  hundred  years  of 
history,  from  the  founding  of  Rome  to  the  subjugation  by 
Rome  of  the  Sam'nites.  This  portion  of  the  work  has  little 
claim,  and  it  makes  little  claim,  to  the  character  of  history. 
It  is  confessedly  mythical  and  legendary,  rather  than  histor- 
ical. But  most  entertaining  narrative  Livy  makes  of  his 
material.  "The  brave  days  of  old  "  live  again,  with  power — 
a  power  communicated  from  vivific  style — in  his  glowing 
pages. 

Take — for  a  single  specimen  of  the  anecdotes  of  patriotic, 
if  pagan,  self-devotion,  with  which  the  annals  of  mythical 
Rome  are  profusely  illuminated,  but  which  nowhere  else  are 
so  vividly  brilliant  as  in  Livy's  telling — this  famous  legend 
of  left-handed  Mu'ci-us.  "Lars  Por'se-na  of  Clu'si-um,"  as 
every  boy  knows  out  of  Macaulay's  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome," 
was  marked  out  by  a  patriot  adventurer  from  the  citv  for 
death  by  assassination.  A  high-born  Roman  youth,  Mucins 
by  name,  resolved,  with  the  approval  of  the  senate,  to  pene- 
trate the  enemy's  lines,  and,  getting  access  to  Porsena's 
[Por-sen'na's]  person,  to  slay  him  with  a  sudden  stroke  in  the 
midst  of  his  friends.  By  mistake  Porsena's  secretary  was 
vicariously  slain  ;  and  now  let  Livy  tell  the  rest.  We  use 
Mr.  Collins's  translation,  given  in  the  volume  on  Livy  in 
Ancient  Classics  for  English  Readers: 

He  [Mucins]  was  moving  off,  making  a  way  for  himself  through  the 
crowd  with  his  bloody  weapon,  when  the  clamor  made  the  king's  guards 
run  up,  who  seized  him  and  dragged  him  back.  Set  before  the  king 
whei-e  he  sat  in  state,  even  in  that  imminent  peril  he  spoke  as  if  the 
king,  and  not  he,  had  need  to  tremble.  "  I  am  a  citizen  of  Rome  ;  men 
call  me  Caius  Mucius.  I  sought  to  slay  mine  enemy.  And  I  have  as 
good  heart  to  suffer  death  as  I  had  to  inflict  it:  our  Roman  fashion  is 
to  do  and  suffer  stoutly.  Nor  is  it  I  alone  who  bear  in  my  mind  this  in- 
tent toward  thee :  there  follows  after  me  a  long  succession  of  claimants 
for  this  gloiy.  Wherefore  prepare  thyself  at  once  for  this  conflict :  to 
be  in  jeopardy  of  life  from  hour  to  hour — to  find  an  enemy  at  llie  very 
threshold   of  tliy  c!iaml)er.     Such    is  the  war  \vc  Roman  \oiuh  declare 


Livy.  1 7 

against  thee.  Thou  hast  not  to  dread  the  battle  or  the  open  field  ;  the 
struggle  for  thee  will  be  in  person  against  each  single  antagonist." 
When  the  king,  alike  furious  with  anger  and  alarmed  at  the  peril, 
threatened  him  with  torture  by  fire  unless  he  forthwith  revealed  the  plot 
at  which  he  thus  darkly  hinted — "  Lo,  here,'' said  he,  "  that  you  may 
understand  how  cheap  they  hold  all  pains  of  the  body,  who  see  a  grand 
renown  in  prospect" — and  he  thrust  his  hand  into  the  fire  on  the  altar 
just  kindled  for  sacrifice.  When  he  held  it  there  to  be  consumed,  as 
quite  unsonscious  of  any  sense  of  pain,  the  king,  well-nigh  astounded 
at  the  marvel,  leapt  from  his  seat  and  bade  him  be  moved  away  from 
the  altar. 

The  hated  Etruscan  was  not  incapable  of  generosity.  He 
suffered  Mucins — thenceforward  known  in  legend  by  the 
surname  Scse'vo-la,  (Left-handed) — to  escape  punishment. 
Sc^evola,  according  to  Livy,  went  off  muttering,  "  by  way  of 
thanks,"  as  Livy  sardonically  expresses  it,  that  he  was  him- 
self but  one  of  three  hundred  young  Romans  sworn  to  do 
likewise.  It  must  have  been  as  uncomfortable  for  Porsena, 
as  Nihilism  makes  it  for  the  Russian  Czar.  This  incident 
Livy  represents  to  have  seriously  affected  the  event  of  Porse- 
na's  siege.  According  to  Livy,  Porsena  soon,  in  consequence, 
withdrew  from  the  besetment  of  the  city.  Tacitus  is  not  ready 
to  go  such  lengths  as  does  Livy,  in  rhetorical  patriotism. 
Tacitus  probably  is  right.     But  Livy  probably  was  popular. 

Another  legend,  approaching  nearer,  perhaps,  the  character 
of  history,  is  that  of  the  sack  of  Rome  by  the  Gauls.  There 
seems  no  question  that  the  event  occurred,  but  the  romantic 
and  theatric  incident  and  circurnstance  with  which,  in  Livy's 
narration,  the  event  is  surrounded,  are  doubtless  the  growth 
of  popular  tradition,  molded  and  adorned  by  the  taste  and 
imagination  of  the  most  picturesque  of  historians.  The  utter 
ruin  of  Rome  is  made  by  Livy  to  appear  in  a  light  that  casts 
a  lofty  and  melancholy  dignity  upon  the  figure  of  the  falling 
state.  The  Gauls  have  pressed  their  way  to  the  very  walls 
of  the  city.  They  find  the  gates  open.  The  quiet  that 
reigned  seemed  ominous  to  them.     They  do  not  venture  at 


18  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

once  to  enter,  suspecting  some  stratagem.  The  Romans  able 
to  bear  arms  shut  themselves  up  in  the  Capitol,  while  the 
common  people  in  general  fled  hither  and  thither,  as  suited 
their  several  notions  of  prudence.  The  older  Roman  gran- 
dees, however,  according  to  Livy,  concerted  a  novel  plan  of 
procedure  for  decorously  meeting  their  fate.  The  Gauls 
were  struck  with  astonishment  at  the  sight  that  saluted  their 
eyes.     Livy  says  (Mr.  Collins  translates  again)  : 

The  houses  of  the  lower  orders  were  shut  up,  but  the  halls  of  the 
chief  men  stood  open  ;  and  they  [the  Gauls]  hesitated  more  at  entering 
these  than  at  breaking  open  such  as  were  closed  against  them.  Thus  it 
was  not  without  a  certain  awe  and  reverence  that  they  beheld  sitting  in 
the  vestibules  of  their  houses,  figures  which  not  only  in  their  costume  and 
decorations,  whose  magnificence  seemed  to  their  eyes  more  than  mortal, 
but  in  the  majesty  of  their  looks  and  bearing,  were  like  unto  gods. 
While  they  stood  fixedly  regarding  them  as  though  they  were  statues,  a 
Gaul  is  said  to  have  stroked  the  beard,  worn  long  as  it  was  in  those 
days,  of  one  of  them,  Marcus  Pa-pir'i-us,  who  smote  him  on  the  head  with 
his  ivory  staff,  and  woke  his  wrath  ;  with  that  began  a  general  massacre, 
and  the  rest  were  killed  where  they  sat. 

The  legend — and  Livy — found  out  a  way  of  rescuing  Rome 
after  all  from  the  very  jaws  of  destruction.  The  city  had 
been  pillaged  and  burned,  but  the  citadel  still  stood  out. 
Parley  was  held  with  the  barbarians  about  ransom  of  what 
remained — famine  and  pestilence  together  inclining  both 
parties  to  suspension  of  war.  When  the  Romans  exclaimed 
against  false  weights  brought  by  the  Gauls  for  weighing  out 
the  stipulated  gold,  the  barbarian  chief  scornfully  flung  his 
sword  into  the  balance,  to  signify.  That  shall  make  the 
weights  weigh  as  heavy  as  we  choose  to  have  them.  But, 
behold,  when  the  humiliation  of  Rome  seemed  complete,  at 
that  very  instant,  Ca-mil'lus,  Dictator,  was  suddenly  at  hand 
with  redemption,  to  be  paid  in  a  diff"erent  coin,  for  his  coun- 
try. 'Not  with  gold  but  with  steel,  is  Rome  to  be  bought 
from  her  foes,'  he  cried  out.  The  Gauls  were  driven  out  of 
the  city.     More.     They  were  slain  to  a  man. 


Lizy.  1 9 

Was  not  Livy,  with  good  reason,  an  historian  popular  at 
Rome?  And  as  for  the  trustworthiness  of  his  gallant  tales, 
was  there  not  great  Rome  herself,  the  imperial  city  of  the 
Caesars,  standing  in  Livy's  day,  for  the  historian  to  point  to 
in  triumph  as  witness  to  whatever  fine  things  he  could  say  of 
her  heroic  past?  Surely,  such  a  city  must  have  had  a  his- 
tory as  glorious  as  Livy  could  paint  Rome's. 

One  spirited  legend  more  out  of  Livy's  treasury  of  such, 
and  we  will  pass  to  something  of  his  that  is  better  entitled 
to  credit.  The  story  of  Cur'ti-us,  as  Livy  tells  it,  well  sums 
up  the  Roman's  ideal  of  civic  wealth  and  civic  virtue.  The 
forum  yawned  with  a  chasm  in  the  midst.  The  gods  said 
it  would  close  when  the  best  that  Rome  owned  was  cast  into 
the  pit  —  then,  and  not  till  then.  She  tried  one  precious 
thing  after  another  in  vain.  The  bodeful  chasm  still  stretched 
wide  its  hungry  jaws.     Livy  now  : 

Then  young  Marcus  Curtius,  a  gallant  soldier,  chid  them  all  for 
doubting  that  there  could  be  any  better  thing  in  Rome  tlian  good 
weapons  and  a  stout  heart.  He  called  for  silence  ;  and  looking  toward 
the  temples  of  the  immortal  gods  that  crowned  the  Forum,  and  toward 
the  Capitol,  he  lifted  his  hands  first  to  heaven,  and  then  stretching  them 
downward,  where  the  gulf  yawned  before  him,  in  supplication  to  the 
Powers  below,  he  solemnly  devoted  himself  to  death.  Mounted  on  his 
horse,  which  he  had  clothed  in  the  most  splendid  trappings  that  could  be 
found,  he  leaped,  all  armed,  into  the  chasm,  while  crowds  of  men  and 
women  showered  in  after  him  precious  gifts  and  fruits. 

Of  course,  upon  this  costly  act  of  self-sacrifice,  there  was 
nothing  left  for  the  chasm  to  do,  but  close  up  and  hold  fast 
what  it  had  got.  The  fable  is  a  splendid  allegory  of  what 
patriots  do  by  thousands  upon  thousands  whenever  they 
offer  themselves  up  in  battle  to  die  for  their  country. 

We  are  now  about  to  enter  upon  a  more  consecutive  pres- 
entation of  a  part  of  the  matter  of  Livy's  annals.  We  need  to 
apprise  our  readers  that  the  present  is  not  an  undertaking  of 
ours  to  make  any  thing  like  a  full  exhibition  in  abstract  or 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


extract  of  what  remains  to  us  moderns  of  Livy's  great  work. 
That  undertaking  would  require  more  space  than  we  have  at 
command.  It  would  besides  transcend  the  limits  which  we 
prescribe  to  ourselves  in  these  volumes.  Our  aim  is  strictly- 
confined  to  giving  in  English  about  such  a  proportion  of  each 
Latin  author  treated,  as  would  be  traversed  by  the  student 
in  accomplishing  an  average  college  course.  We  shall  give 
more,  rather  than  less;  but  when  we  have  given  as  much,  we 
shall  have  fulfilled  the  promise  of  this  series  of  books. 

There  is  probably  no  part  of  extant  Livy  more  vividly  in- 
teresting, and  interesting  to  a  wider  audience  of  minds, 
than  is  the  long  and  checkered  story  of  that  Punic  War, 
so-called,  in  which  the  figures  of  Han''ni-bal,  of  Fa'bi-us,  and 
of  Scipio  [Sip'i-o],  loom  large  and  splendid,  in  mutually  ef- 
fective and  ennobling  contrast.  The  time  never  will  come 
when  men  will  not  be  more  moved  by  the  fortunes  of  men, 
individual  men,  than  they  are  by  the  fortunes  of  nations. 
The  fact  may  seem  illogical,  unreasonable,  regrettable,  but  it 
remains  a  fact.  A  fact  so  obstinate,  so  insoluble,  so  redoubt- 
able,''we,  for  our  part,  shall  neither  resist  nor  ignore.  We 
unquestioningly  select,  for  the  portion  of  Livy  to  be  laid  be- 
fore our  readers,  the  story  of  Carthage  against  Rome,  revolv- 
ing about  those  three  great  national  champions,  Hannibal  on 
the  one  side,  and  Fabius  with  Scipio  on  the  other.  It  was 
more,  far  more — that  long  strife — than  a  conflict  of  individ- 
ual leaders,  of  rival  nations,  of  antagonistic  races.  It  was  also 
a  war  of  contending  political  ideas,  of  opposing  historical 
tendencies.  It  was  now  to  be  decided  what  type  of  civiliza- 
tion, what  spirit  of  civil  polity,  should  rule  the  future.  The 
symp'athies  of  readers  will  almost  certainly  be  enlisted  on 
the  side  of  Carthaginian  Hannibal  doomed  beforehand 
to  final  defeat.  Such  is  the  secret  magic  of  a  great 
human  personality.  But  we  may  console  ourselves.  It  was 
far  better  that  Rome  should  conquer,  as  she  did.  In  this 
case,  at  any  rate,  it  was  the  fitter  that  survived. 


Livy.  2 1 

Dclcnda  est  Carthago  (Carthage  must  be  blotted  out)  has 
become  a  proverb  of  fell  resolution  adopted  against  a  foe 
that  the  necessities  of  self-defense  will  not  suffer  to  survive. 
Such  was  the  famous  sentence  of  Cato  against  Carthage;  a 
sentence  which  Rome  at  length  adopted  —  to  carry  it  out 
with  a  bitter  literalness  never  perhaps  exceeded  in  the 
destruction  of  any  other  city  in  the  world.  The  utter  oblit- 
eration of  Carthage  from  the  earth  meant  the  utter  oblitera- 
tion of  Carthage  from  history.  Carthage  herself  perhaps 
never  produced  literature  of  any  sort.  And  written  history 
that  should  include  Carthage,  if  Carthage  survived — that  is, 
Roman  history — was,  so  to  speak,  about  to  begin,  only  as 
Carthage  was  about  to  end.  It  is  difficult,  accordingly, 
for  us  now  to  conceive  how  important  a  place  among  na- 
tions Carthage,  an  almost  unhistoric  city,  really  occupied. 
The  fact,  however,  is  that  Carthage,  when  the  long  duel 
between  Carthage  and  Rome  commenced,  was  apparently 
a  full  equal  of  her  enemy  in  promised  extent  and  duration 
of  empire.  Rome,  indeed,  had  now  become  supreme 
mistress  of  Italy.  But  Carthage,  besides  her  home  pos- 
sessions in  Africa,  had  established  important  connections 
with  many  points  on  the  Mediterranean  coast.  She  was  a 
maritime  power,  as  Rome  was  not.  She  had  strong  foothold 
in  Spain.  Sar-din'i-a  was  hers,  and  Cor'si-ca,  and  the  Ba- 
le-ar'ic  Isles.  She  was  stretching  a  cordon  of  colonies  along 
the  border  of  Sicily,  with  designs  upon  that  great  and  rich 
island  as  a  whole.  This  might  justly  be  deemed  an  indirect 
menace  to  Rome.  Rome  had  not  long  to  wait  for  a  desirable 
opportunity  to  take  up  the  gauntlet  that  Carthage  threw 
down  at  her  feet.  The  two  cities  closed  in  a  grapple  that, 
having  lasted  twenty-three  years,  left  Rome  in  possession  of 
Sicily.  This  struggle  is  known  in  history  as  the  First  Punic 
War.  (The  Carthaginians  were  Phoenicians,  and  the  Phoe- 
nicians were  by  the  Romans  called  Pceni,  whence  *'  Punic  " 
as  the  name  of  the  war.) 


College  Latin  Course  hi  English. 


The  Second  Punic  War  was  a  greater.  The  Carthaginian 
hero  of  it  was  Hannibal.  It  is  of  this  second  war  between 
Carthage  and  Rome  that  we  shall  here  let  Livy  treat.  The 
historian  had  a  generous  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  strug- 
gle. But  his  idea  was  not  exaggerated.  The  fortune  of  the 
world  was  decided  by  the  event  of  this  war.  History  per- 
haps— or  is  this  too  much  to  suggest  1 — is  Indo-European 
instead  of  being  Semitic,  because  Rome  conquered  and  not 
Carthage.  Livy's  language  about  this  war  will  remind  read- 
ers of  what  Thu-cyd'i-des,  with  so  much  less  justness,  said 
four  hundred  years  earlier  about  the  Peloponnesian  War. 
The  two  historians'  high  estimate  of  the  importance  of  the 
subjects  they  undertook  to  treat,  might  be  accepted  as  a  pledge 
on  their  part  of  devoting  to  the  treatment  the  best  exertions 
of  which  they  were  capable.  The  result  in  either  case  was  a 
masterpiece  of  historical  composition.  What  Livy,  compared 
with  Thucydides,  lacks  in  breadth  of  comprehension  and 
in  depth  of  insight,  he  quite  fully  makes  up  in  dash  and  brill- 
iancy of  narrative.  Livy  has  the  advantage  of  Thucydides 
in  largeness  of  theme  to  handle,  and  in  splendor  of  exploit 
to  describe.  The  passage  of  Livy  that  we  are  about  to  pre- 
sent, namely,  the  narrative  of  the  Second  Punic  War,  stands 
as  simply  an  important  part  of  a  much  larger  design,  while  the 
"  Peloponnesian  War  "  of  Thucydides  was  conceived  by  its 
author  as  an  historical  monograph,  complete  in  itself. 

Here  is  the  preface  that  Livy  prefixes  to  his  account  of  the 
Second  Punic  War.  It  marks  the  beginning  of  the  third 
decade  of  his  work ;  that  is,  the  beginning  of  his  twenty-first 
book : 

I  claim  leave  to  preface  a  portion  of  my  history  by  a  remark  which 
most  historians  make  at  the  beginning  of  their  whole  work.  I  am  about 
to  describe -the  most  memorable  war  ever  waged,  the  war  which  the 
Carthaginians,  under  the  leadership  of  Hannibal,  waged  against  the  peo- 
ple of  Rome.  Never  linve  states  or  nations  with  mightier  resources  met 
in  arms,  and  never  had  these    two   peoples  themselves  possessed   such 


Livy. 


23 


strengtli  and  endurance.  The  modes  of  warfare  with  which  they  en- 
countered one  anotlier  were  not  unfamiliar,  but  had  been  tested  in  the 
First  Punic  War.  Again,  so  varying  was  the  fortune  of  battle,  so  doubt- 
ful the  struggle,  that  they  who  finally  conquered  were  once  the  nearer  to 
ruin.  And  they  fought,  too,  with  a  hate  well-nigh  greater  than  their 
strength.  Rome  was  indignant  that  the  conquered  should  presume  to 
attack  the  conqueror,  Carthage  that  the  vanquished  had,  she  thought, 
been  subjected  to  an  arrogant  and  rapacious  rule. 

We  must  go  on,  and  repeat  the  fainiliar  story  that  imme- 
diately follows,  of  the  oath  taken  by  young  Hannibal  of 
enmity  to  Rome.  Readers  will  like  to  learn  that  Livy  is  a 
source  and  authority  for  this  picturesque  and  grim  legend  of 
Carthaginian  patriotism  : 

There  is  a  story,  too,  of  Hannibal  when,  at  nine  years  of  age,  he  was 
boyishly  coaxing  his  father  Ham-il'car  to  take  him  with  him  to  Spain 
(Hamilcar  had  just  finished  the  African  war,  and  was  sacrificing  before 
transporting  his  army  to  that  country),  how  the  child  was  set  by  the 
altar,  and  there,  with  his  hand  upon  the  victim,  was  made  to  swear  that, 
so  soon  as  he  could,  he  would  be  the  enemy  of  the  Roman  people. 


High-spirited  Hamilcar  died  while  Hannibal  was  yet 
scarcely  more  than  a  boy.  Has'dru-bal 
held  command  of  the  Carthaginian  army 
until  he  was  suddenly  slain.  Hannibal 
then,  still  very  young,  was  inade  leader 
by  popular  acclamation.  We  have  to 
omit  certain  details  of  scandalous  gossip 
concerning  the  relation  of  youths  to  their 
elders  and  chiefs,  very  true  to  the  life 
of  those  times,  but  from  the  Chris- 
tianized life  of  these  times  happily  for  the  most  part  very 
alien.  We  come  to  a  spirited  portrait  in  words  of  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  military  geniuses  the  world  has  ever 
beheld.  Livy,  in  drawing  this  portrait,  goes  back  a  little  in 
retrospect  of  Hannibal's  years  of  youthful  service  under  Has- 
drubal  after  the  untimely  death  of  his  own  father,  Hamilcar: 


HAMILCAR. 


24  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Hannibal  was  sent  to  Spain,  and  instantly  on  his  arrival  attracted 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  army.  Young  Hamilcar  was  restored  to 
them,  thought  the  veterans,  as  tliey  saw  in  him  the  same  animated  look 
and  penetrating  eye,  the  same  expression,  the  same  features.  Soon  he 
made  them  feel  that  his  father's  memory  was  but  a  trifling  aid  to  him  in 
winning  their  esteem.  Never  had  man  a  temper  that  adapted  itself 
better  to  the  widely  diverse  duties  of  obedience  and  command,  till  it  was 
hard  to  decide  whether  he  was  more  beloved  by  the  general  or  the  army. 
There  was  no  one  whom  Hasdrubal  preferred  to  put  in  command,  when- 
ever courage  and  persistency  were  specially  needed,  no  ofircer  under 
whom  the  soldiers  were  more  confident  and  more  daring.  Bold  in  the 
extreme  in  incurring  peril,  he  was  perfectly  cool  in  its  presence.  No  toil 
could  weary  his  body  or  conquer  his  spirit.  Heat  and  cold  he  bore  with 
equal  endurance  ;  the  cravings  of  nature,  not  the  pleasure  of  the  palate, 
determined  the  measure  of  his  food  and  drink.  His  waking  and  sleep- 
ing hours  were  not  regulated  by  day  and  night.  Such  time  as  business 
left  him,  he  gave  to  repose  ;  but  it  was  not  on  a  soft  couch  or  in  stillness 
that  he  sought  it.  Many  a  man  often  saw  him  wrapped  in  his  militaiy 
cloak,  lying  on  the  ground  amid  the  sentries  and  pickets.  His  dress 
was  not  one  whit  superior  to  that  of  his  comrades,  but  his  accoutrements 
and  horses  were  conspicuously  splendid.  Among  the  cavalry  or  the 
infantry  he  was  by  far  the  first  soldier;  the  first  in  battle,  the  last  to  leave 
it  when  once  begun. 

These  great  virtues  in  the  man  were  equalled  by  monstrous  vices, 
inhuman  cruelty,  a  worse  than  Punic  perfidy.  Absolutely  false  and 
irreligious,  he  had  no  fear  of  God,  no  regard  for  an  oath,  no  scruples. 
With  this  combination  of  virtues  and  vices,  he  served  three  years  under 
the  command  of  Hasdrubal,  omitting  nothing  which  a  man  who  was  to  be 
a  great  general  ought  to  do  or  to  see. 

Such,  in  the  admiring,  yet  hostile,  perhaps  not  wholly  well- 
informed,  and  at  any  rate  probably  prejudiced,  delineation 
of  Livy,  was  the  Carthaginian  hero  of  the  Second  Punic  War. 
To  transfer  here  Livy's  whole  extended  account  of  this 
struggle  for  empire  and  for  life,  between  Carthage  and  Rome, 
would  fill  this  volume,  and  even  swell  it  much  beyond  its  in- 
tended size.  And  such  an  incorporation  from  Livy  would 
greatly  exaggerate  the  proportion  of  time  given  to  this  author 
in  the  ordinary  college  course.  Our  plan  will  be  to  select 
the  most  salient  and  most  representative  incidents  and  events 


Livy. 


25 


of  the  war,  and  let  the  part  thus  set  forth  stand  in  specimen 
of  the  whole. 

Hannibal  had   attacked  Sa-gun'tum.      Saguntum    was   a 
Spanish  town  on  the  E'bro.     The  question  was  to  whom  it 


HANNIBAL. 


belonged.  Hannibal  solved  the  question  by  laying  siege  to  it 
and  taking  it.  Rome,  disturbed  too  late,  sent  envoys  to 
Carthage.  The  Carthaginian  senate  must  disavow  the  pro- 
ceedings of  Hannibal,  or  accept  a  state  of  war  with  Rome. 
Parley  was  attempted  by  the  Carthaginians,  but  Quin'tus 
Fa'bi-us,  in  the  fashion  that  became  him  as  Roman,  did — 
what  Livy  thus  describes: 

Upon  this  the  Roman  gathered  his  robe  into  a  fold,  and  said  :  "  Here 
we  bring  you   peace  and  war  ;  take  which  you  please."     Instantly  on 
2 


26  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

the  word  rose  a  shout  as  fierce:  "  Ciive  us  which  you  please."  The 
Roman,  in  reply,  shook  out  the  fold,  and  spoke  again  :  "  I  give  you 
war."  The  answer  from  all  was  :  "  We  accept  it,  and  in  the  spirit  with 
which  we  accept  it,  will  we  wage  it." 

Hannibal  was,  like  Napoleon,  a  child  of  destiny.  He  had 
a  dream  which  dominated  him — a  dream  darkly  prophetic  of 
his  future.  Livy  relates  it  with  a  "  so  the  story  goes,"  to 
save  his  own  credit,  at  the  same  time  that  he  saved  an  inci- 
dent dear  to  his  romantic  taste  and  to  his  pictorial  style. 
The  vision  came  to  Hannibal  after  he  had  resolved  on  cross- 
ing the  Alps  and  descending  upon  Italy.  Here  is  Livy's 
account : 

He  saw  in  a  dream,  so  the  story  goes,  a  youth  of  godlike  shape,  who 
said  that  he  had  been  sent  by  Jupiter  to  conduct  the  army  of  Hannibal 
into  Italy;  that  he  was,  therefore,  to  follow  and  nowhere  turn  his  eyes 
away  from  him.  At  first  Hannibal  followed  trembling,  neither  looking 
around  nor  behind;  after  a  while,  with  the  natural  curiosity  of  the  human 
mind,  as  he  thought  what  it  could  be  on  which  he  was  forbidden  to  look 
back,  he  could  not  restrain  his  eyes;  he  then  saw  behind  him  a  serpent 
of  marvelous  size  moving  onward  with  a  fearful  destruction  of  trees  and 
bushes  ;  close  after  this  followed  a  storm-cloud  with  crashing  thunder. 
When  he  asked  what  was  the  monster  and  what  the  portent  meant, 
he  was  told  it  was  "  the  devastation  of  Italy  ;  let  him  go  straight  on  and 
ask  no  more  questions,  and  leave  the  fates  in  darkness." 

Pub'li-us  Cor-ne'li-us  Scipio,  on  the  part  of  the  Romans, 
advanced  against  advancing  Hannibal.  The  two  hostile 
armies  now  confront  each  other,  when  Scipio  inspirits  his 
men  with  a  speech.  This  speech  Livy,  after  the  fashion  that 
prevailed  among  ancient  historians,  gives  in  full  abstract  and 
specimen.  Of  course  the  speech  is  constructed  for  the  gen- 
eral by  the  historian.  Such  was  the  dramatic  form  adopted 
by  the  historians  of  antiquity  under  which  to  present  the 
supposed  views,  motives,  aims,  of  the  characters  in  their 
story.  Scipio  seems  to  have  chosen  to  regard  Hannibal  in 
something  the  same  light  in  which  Demosthenes,  in  his 
harangues,  chose  to  regard  Alexander  the  Great.     "  A  young 


Livy.  2  7 

madman,"  he  calls  the  Carthaginian.  Hannibal  was,  in  fact, 
just  twenty-six  years  of  age  when  he  began  this  war.  "  Young  " 
he  was,  but  he  was  not  "  madman  "  enough  not  to  know  well 
how  to  manage  his  men.  His  madness  at  least  had  a  re- 
markable method.  He  first  exhibits  a  spectacle,  and  then 
he  makes  a  speech.  The  spectacle  consisted  of  single  com- 
bats between  prisoners  taken  in  the  mountains,  with  prize 
of  freedom  promised  to  the  victor — freedom,  arms,  and  a 
charger.  Several  pairs  of  prisoners  thus  fought  in  pres- 
ence of  the  army.  Hannibal  then  told  his  soldiers,  '  You 
have  witnessed  a  lively  symbol  of  your  own  condition. 
You  yourselves  fight  with  the  Roman  army  for  such  a 
prize  of  victory  as  that  which  you  have  thus  seen  bestowed 
upon  the  conquerors  in  these  single  combats.'  The  effect 
of  the  speech,  so  emphasized  by  the  spectacle,  may  be 
imagined. 

The  battle  that  impended  was  not  one  of  the  great  battles 
of  the  war;  but  when  it  finally  was  joined,  it  went  against  the 
Romans.  Scipio,  their  general,  was  wounded.  He  was  res- 
cued by  his  son.  That  son  was  the  great  Scipio — to  be  sur- 
named  Africanus,  in  honor  of  the  decisive  victory  that  he 
will  hereafter  win  over  Hannibal  and  the  Carthaginians.  To 
him  that  hath  shall  be  given  ;  and  Livy,  to  the  greater  sub- 
sequent glory  of  Scipio  Africanus,  adds  also  the  lesser  glory 
of  having  rescued  his  imperiled  father  in  this  first  fight  with 
Hannibal — though  he  says  Caelius  ascribes  the  act  to  a 
Ligurian  slave. 

But  where,  it  may  be  asked,  did  this  hostile  encounter 
occur.''  It  was  on  the  Italian  side  of  the  Alps.  Hannibal 
had  previously  performed  one  of  the  greatest  military  feats 
on  record,  by  crossing  the  Alps  with  his  army.  It  will  not 
do  to  let  this  exploit  of  his  pass  in  silence.  We  go  a  step  or 
two  back  and  take  up  Livy's  description.  The  historian 
begins,  it  will  be  observed,  with  reporting  or  imagining — 
doubtful  which  —  the  impression  made  on  the  Carthaginians, 


28  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

born  under  an  African  sun,  by  the  first  sight  of  the  Alps 
with  their  visible  rigors  of  cold  : 

Though  rumor,  which  usually  magnifies  the  unknown  far  beyond  truth, 
had  given  some  anticipation  of  the  facts,  still  the  near  sight  of  the  mount- 
ain-heights, with  their  snows  almost  mingling  with  the  sky,  the  rude  huts 
perched  on  the  rocks,  cattle  and  beasts  of  burden  shrivelled  with  cold, 
human  beings  unkempt  and  wild,  and  all  things  animate  and  inanimate 
stiffened  with  frost,  with  other  scenes  more  horrible  to  behold  than  to 
describe,  revived  their  terror. 

As  the  vanguard  was  struggling  up  the  first  slopes,  the  mountain 
tribes  showed  themselves  on  the  overhanging  hills.  Had  they  lain  hid 
in  some  of  the  obscurer  valleys  and  suddenly  rushed  out  to  the  attack, 
they  must  have  caused  terrible  panic  and  loss.  Hannibal  ordered  a 
halt ;  the  Gauls  were  sent  on  to  reconnoitre,  and  when  he  asceitained 
that  here  there  was  no  passage  for  his  troops,  he  pitched  his  camp  in  the 
broadest  valley  he  could  find,  where  all  around  was  rugged  and  precip- 
itous. Then  from  those  same  Gauls,  mingling  and  conversing  with  the 
mountaineers,  whom,  indeed,  in  language  and  manners  they  resembled, 
he  learnt  that  it  was  only  by  day  that  the  pass  was  barred,  and  that  at 
night  all  dispersed  to  their  various  dwellings.  With  early  dawn  he  ad- 
vanced to  the  foot  of  the  hills,  as  if  he  meant  to  push  his  way  by  force 
in  open  day  through  the  defiles.  In  this  feint,  preparing  a  movement 
not  really  intended,  the  day  was  spent,  and  the  camp  was  fortified  on 
the  spot  on  which  it  had  been  pitched.  But  the  moment  Hannibal 
saw  the  mountaineers  coming  down  from  the  hills  and  the  outposts 
weakly  manned,  he  had  a  multitude  of  fires  lit  for  show,  greater  than 
would  correspond  with  the  number  of  troops  in  camp,  and  then  leaving 
behind  him  the  baggage  with  the  cavalry  as  well  as  the  greater  part  of 
the  infantry,  and  taking  with  him  some  lightly  armed  men,  the  bravest 
he  could  pick,  he  rapidly  mounted  the  passages  and  established  himself 
on  the  very  hills  which  the  enemy  had  occupied. 

At  day-break  the  camp  was  broken  up  and  the  rest  of  the  army  began 
to  move.  The  mountaineers  on  a  signal  given  were  now  gathering  in 
force  from  their  fortresses  to  one  of  their  regular  positions,  when  sud- 
denly they  saw  the  enemy,  some  on  the  heights  over  their  heads  and  in 
possession  of  their  own  stronghold,  the  remainder  marching  through  the 
pass.  The  double  impression  thus  made  on  their  sight  and  imagination, 
held  them  for  a  brief  while  rooted  to  the  earth.  Soon,  when  they  saw 
the  hurry  in  the  defiles  and  how  the  army  was  in  utter  confusion  from 
its  own    disorder,   the  horses  especially  being  wild   with    fright,   they 


Livy. 


29 


thought  that,  could  they  in  any  way  increase  the  panic,  it  would  insure 
the  enemy's  destruction,  and  they  rushed  down  the  face  of  the  rocks 
they  knew  so  well,  whether  along  pathless  steeps  or  obscure  tracks. 
Then,  indeed,  both  the  foe  and  the  perils  of  the  place  fought  against 
the  Carthaginians,  and  while  every  man  strove  for  himself  to  get  soonest 
out  of  danger,  there  was  more  struggling  among  the  soldiers  themselves 
than  between  them  and  the  enemy.  The  horses  were  the  most  dan- 
gerous hindrance  to  the  army.  They  were  terrified  and  scared  by  the 
confused  cries  which  the  woods  and  echoing  valleys  further  multiplied, 
and  if  they  chanced  to  be  struck  and  wounded,  in  the  wildness  of  their 
terror  they  made  fearful  havoc  alike  among  the  men  and  the  baggage  of 
every  description.  The  pressure,  too,  in  the  defile,  each  side  of  which 
was  a  sheer  precipice,  hurled  numbers  down  to  an  immense  depth,  and 
among  them  were  soldiers  with  their  accoutrements;  but  it  was  more 
particularly  the  beasts  with  their  burdens,  which  rolled  down  with  just 
such  a  crash  as  a  falling  house. 

Horrible  as  all  this  was  to  behold,  Hannibal  halted  awhile  and  kept 
his  men  in  their  ranks,  so  as  not  to  aggravate  the  disorder  and  panic, 
and  then,  as  soon  as  he  saw  a  break  in  the  line,  and  the  danger  that  the 
aimy  might  accomplish  the  passage  safely,  indeed,  but  to  no  purpose, 
because  stript  of  all  their  baggage,  he  hurried  down  from  his  position 
on  the  heights  and  routed  the  enemy,  but  at  the  same  time  increased 
the  confusion  of  his  own  troops.  This  confusion,  however,  was  quieted 
in  a  moment  when  the  flight  of  the  mountaineers  left  the  roads  clear, 
and  all  soon  marched  through  the  pass  not  merely  in  peace,  but  almost 
in  silence.  Next  he  took  a  fortress,  the  capital  of  the  district,  and  some 
villages  in  the  neighborhood,  and  fed  his  troops  for  three  days  on  the 
corn  and  cattle  he  had  seized.  In  those  three  days  he  accomplished  a 
considerable  march,  as  there  was  not  much  hindrance  from  the  ground 
or  from  the  mountaineers,  whom  they  had  cowed  at  the  outset. 

Then  they  reached  a  canton,  which,  for  a  mountain  district,  was 
densely  peopled.  Here  Hannibal  was  all  but  cut  off,  not  by  open 
fighting,  but  by  his  own  peculiar  arts,  treachery  and  ambuscade.  Some 
old  men,  governors  of  the  fortresses,  came  to  him  as  envoys,  with  assur- 
ances that,  warned  by  the  salutary  examples  of  the  misfortunes  of  others, 
they  preferred  to  make  trial  of  the  friendship  rather  than  of  the  might  of 
the  Carthaginians  ;  that  thereupon  they  would  obediently  do  his  bid- 
ding ;  and  they  begged  him  to  accept  supplies,  guides  for  his  march, 
and  hostages  as  a  guarantee  of  their  promises.  Hannibal,  feeling 
that  he  must  not  either  rashly  trust  or  slight  them,  lest  refusal  might 
make  them  open  enemies,  gave  them  a  gracious  answer.     He  accepted 


36  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

the  offered  hostages,  and  used  the  supplies  which  they  had  themselves 
brought  to  the  road,  but  he  followed  the  guides  with  his  army  in  fighting 
order,  not  as  if  he  was  among  a  friendly  people.  His  van  was  formed 
of  the  elephants  and  cavalry,  while  he  marched  himself  in  the  rear  with 
the  main  strength  of  the  infantry,  anxiously  reconnoitring  at  every  step. 
The  moment  they  entered  a  narrow  pass,  dominated  on  one  side  by  an 
overhanging  height,  the  barbarians  sprang  out  of  their  ambuscades  in 
every  direction,  attacking  in  front  and  rear,  discharging  missiles  and 
coming  to  close  quarters,  and  rolling  down  huge  stones  upon  the  army. 
It  was  on  the  rear  that  the  enemy  pressed  in  greatest  force.  The  infan- 
tiy  column  wheeled  and  faced  him  ;  but  it  was  proved,  beyond  a  doubt, 
that,  had  not  the  rear  been  well  strengthened,  a  terrible  disaster  would 
liave  been  sustained  in  that  pass.  Even  as  it  was,  they  were  brought  to 
the  extremest  jeopardy,  and  were  within  a  hairsbreadth  of  destruction. 
For  while  Hannibal  was  hesitating  about  sending  his  men  into  the  de- 
file because,  though  he  could  himself  support  the  cavalry,  he  had  no  re- 
serve in  his  rear  for  the  infantry,  the  mountaineers  rushed  on  his  flanks, 
and,  having  cut  his  line  in  half,  barred  his  advance.  One  night  he  had 
to  pass  without  his  cavalry  and  his  baggage. 

Next  day,  as  the  barbarians  were  less  active  in  their  attacks,  the  army 
was  again  united,  and  fought  its  way  through  the  pass,  but  not  without 
loss,  which,  however,  fell  more  heavily  on  the  beasts  of  burden  than  on 
the  men.  From  this  point  the  mountaineers  became  less  numerous  ; 
hovering  round  more  like  brigands  than  soldiers,  they  threatened  now 
the  van,  now  the  rear,  whenever  the  ground  gave  them  a  chance,  or 
stragglers  in  advance  or  behind  offered  an  opportunity.  The  elephants, 
though  it  was  a  tedious  business  to  drive  them  along  the  narrow  precipit- 
'  ous  passes,  at  least  protected  the  troops  from  the  enemy  wherever  they 
went,  inspiring  as  they  did,  a  peculiar  fear  in  all  who  were  unused  to 
approach  them. 

On  the  ninth  day  they  reached  the  top  of  the  Alps,  passing  for  the 
most  part  over  trackless  steeps,  and  by  devious  ways,  into  which  they 
were  led  by  the  treachery  of  their  guides.  Two  days  they  encamped  on 
the  height,  and  the  men,  worn  out  with  hardships  and  fighting,  were 
allowed  to  rest.  Some  beasts  of  burden,  too,  which  had  fallen  down 
among  the  crags,  found  their  way  to  the  camp  by  following  the  army's 
track.  The  men  were  already  worn  out  and  wearied  with  their  many 
miseries,  when  a  fall  of  snow  coming  with  the  setting  of  the  Pleiades 
added  to  their  sufferings  a  terrible  fear.  At  day-break  the  march  com- 
menced, and  as  the  army  moved  wearily  over  ground  all  buried  in  snow, 
languor  and  despair  were  visibly  written  on  every  face,  when  Hannibal 


L.ivy.  %\ 

stepped  to  the  front,  and  having  ordered  a  halt  on  a  peak  which  com- 
manded a  wide  and  distant  prospect,  pointed  to  Italy  and  to  the  plains 
around  the  Po,  as  they  lay  beneath  the  heights  of  the  Alps,  telling  his 
men,  "  'Tis  the  walls  not  of  Italy  only  but  of  Rome  itself  that  you  are 
now  scaling.  What  remains,"  he  added,  "  will  be  a  smooth  descent;  in 
one,  or  at  the  most,  in  two  battles  we  shall  have  the  citadel  and  capital 
of  Italy  in  our  grasp  and  power." 

The  army  then  began  to  advance,  and  now  even  the  enemy  attempted 
nothing  but  some  stealthy  ambuscades,  as  opportunity  offered.  The  re- 
mainder, however,  of  the  march  proved  far  more  difficult  than  the  as- 
cent, as  the  Alps  for  the  most  part  on  the  Italian  side  have  a  shorter  and, 
therefore,  a  steeper  slope.  In  fact  the  whole  way  was  precipitous,  nar- 
row, and  slippery,  so  much  so  that  they  could  not  keep  themselves  from 
falling,  nor  could  those  who  had  once  stumbled  retain  their  foothold. 
Thus  they  tumbled  one  over  another,  and  the  beasts  of  burden  over  the  men. 

Next  they  came  to  a  much  narrower  pass  with  walls  of  rock  so  per- 
pendicular that  a  light-armed  soldier  could  hardly  let  himself  down  by 
feeling  his  way,  and  grasping  with  his  hands  the  bushes  and  roots  stick- 
ing out  around  him.  The  place  of  old  was  naturally  precipitous,  and 
now  by  a  recent  landslip  it  had  been  broken  away  sheer  to  a  depth  of 
a  thousand  feet.  Here  the  cavalry  halted,  as  if  it  must  be  at  the  end  of 
their  route,  and  Hannibal,  wondering  what  delayed  the  march,  was  told 
that  the  rock  was  impassable.  Then  he  went  himself  to  examine  the 
spot.  There  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  that  he  must  lead  his  army  round 
by  pathless  and  hitherto  untrodden  slopes,  however  tedious  might  be  the 
circuit.  This  route,  however,  was  impracticable;  while  indeed  on  last 
season's  still  unmelted  snow  lay  a  fresh  layer  of  moderate  depth.  The 
foot  of  the  first  comer  found  a  good  hold  on  the  soft  and  not  very  deep 
drift,  but  when  it  had  been  once  trampled  down  under  the  march  of  such 
a  host  of  men  and  beasts,  they  had  to  walk  on  the  bare  ice  beneath,  and 
the  liquid  mud  from  the  melting  snow.  Here  there  was  a  horrible 
struggle.  The  slippery  ice  allowed  no  firm  foothold,  and  indeed  betrayed 
the  foot  all  the  more  quickly  on  the  slope,  so  that  whether  a  man 
helped  himself  to  rise  by  his  hands  or  knees,  his  supports  gave  way,  and 
he  fell  again.  And  here  there  were  no  stalks  or  roots  to  which  hand 
or  foot  could  cling.  Thus  there  was  incessant  rolling  on  nothing  but 
smooth  ice  or  slush  of  snow.  The  beasts  broke  through,  occasionally 
treading  down  even  to  the  very  lowest  layer  of  snow,  and  when  they  fell, 
as  they  wildly  struck  out  with  their  hoofs  in  their  efforts  to  rise,  they  cut 
clean  to  the  bottom,  till  many  of  them  stuck  fast  in  the  hard  and  deep- 
frozen  ice,  as  if  caught  in  a  trap. 


32  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


At  last,  wlien  both  men  and  beasts  were  worn  out  with  fruitless  exertion, 
they  encamped  on  a  height,  in  a  spot  which  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
they  had  cleared  ;  so  much  snow  had  to  be  dug  out  and  removed.  The 
soldiers  were  then  marched  off  to  the  work  of  making  a  road  through 
the  rock,  as  there  only  was  a  passage  possible.  Having  to  cut  into  the 
stone,  they  heaped  up  a  huge  pile  of  wood  from  the  great  trees  in  the 
neighborhood,  which  they  had  felled  and  lopped.  As  soon  as  there  was 
strength  enough  in  the  wind  to  create  a  blaze  they  lighted  the  pile,  and 
melted  the  rocks,  as  they  heated,  by  pouring  vinegar  on  them.  The 
burning  stone  was  cleft  open  with  iron  implements,  and  then  they  re- 
lieved the  steepness  of  the  slopes  by  gradual  winding  tracks,  so  that  even 
the  elephants  as  well  as  the  other  beasts  could  be  led  down.  Four  days 
were  spent  in  this  rocky  pass,  and  the  beasts  almost  perished  of  hunger,  as 
the  heights  generally  are  quite  bare,  and  such  herbage  as  grows  is  buried  in 
snow.  Amid  the  lower  slopes  were  valleys,  sunny  hills,  too,  and  streams, 
and  woods  beside  them,  and  spots  now  at  last  more  worthy  to  be  the 
habitations  of  man.  Here  they  sent  the  beasts  to  feed,  and  the  men,  worn 
out  with  the  toil  of  road-making,  were  allowed  to  rest.  In  the  next  three 
days  they  reached  level  ground,  and  now  the  country  was  less  wild,  as 
was  also  the  character  of  the  inhabitants. 

Such  on  the  whole  was  the  march  which  brought  them  to  Italy,  in  the 
fifth  month,  according  to  some  authors,  after  leaving  New  Carthage, 
the  passage  of  the  Alps  having  occupied  fifteen  days. 

The  foregoing  is  powerful  description  ;  but  it  lacks  the 
traits  that  would  naturally  mark  description  written  by  an  eye- 
witness and  sharer  of  the  scenes  and  experiences  described. 
It  is  conceived  from  the  imagination  alone,  working  with  a 
few  points  given,  rather  than  from  the  memory  and  imagina- 
tion working  together,  with  all  the  material  at  command.  It 
contrasts  in  essential  character  with  the  life-like  delineations 
of  Xenophon,  for  example,  in  the  Anabasis,  who  saw  all  and 
was  himself  a  great  part.  Livy's  description  is  valuable,  more 
perhaps  as  rhetoric,  than  as  history. 

What  Hannibal's  route  was  in  crossing  the  Alps  is  not 
certainly  known.  Po-lyb'i-us  is  a  Greek  historian  who  lived 
in  the  time  of  the  Second  Punic  War.  His  authority  is  con- 
sidered good,  and  his  account  is  to  a  considerable  extent 
parallel  with  tliat  of  Livy.     The  two  historians  are  here  at 


Livy.  33 

variance.  The  route  indicated  by  Polybius  is  thought  to  be 
that  of  the  Little  St.  Bernard.  The  weight  of  recent  opin- 
ion lies  on  the  side  of  Polybius. 

Military  operations,  attended  with  various  fortune,  more 
often  favorable  to  the  Carthaginians,  followed  that  first  bat- 
tle in  which  the  Romans  were  beaten.  The  great  battle,  or 
rather  the  great  Roman  disaster,  of  Thras-y-me'nus,  was  near. 
This  celebrated  action  we  must  presently  let  Livy  describe 
at  full. 

It  is  a  marked  feature  of  Roman  history,  as  Roman  history 
is  written  by  Livy  and  by  Tacitus,  that  chapters  come  in  at 
intervals  throughout  their  works,  recording  omens  that 
occurred.  The  Romans  were  a  profoundly  superstitious 
people.  They  lived  under  as  it  were  a  shadow  of  the  sinister 
supernatural  all  the  time.  We  shall  not  be  able  to  make  a 
full  due  impression  of  the  effect  which  these  recurring  lists 
of  omens  observed,  produce  on  the  mind  of  the  reader  of  the 
original  works.  To  do  so  would  require  the  reproduction  of 
a  considerable  number  of  these  formidable  and  gloomy 
catalogues;  and  that  would  occupy  too  much  of  our  space. 
But  it  is  the  quantity,  not  less  than  the  quality,  of  such 
material,  together  with  what  seems  the  periodicity  of  its  re- 
turn to  view,  that  oppresses  the  imagination  of  one  occupied 
in  reading  the  full  text  of  the  native  historians  of  Rome. 
We  give  at  this  point  a  single  catalogue  of  omens  which 
must  stand  as  representative  of  its  kind.  The  following  pas- 
sage occurs  near  the  opening  of  the  second  book  of  that 
third  decade  of  Livy,  with  which  we  are  now  concerned. 
The  disaster  of  Thrasymenus  (Tras-u-men'nus  is  the  more 
recent  orthography)  impended  for  the  Romans.  The  Ro- 
mans meantime  were  oppressed  with  the  gloomiest  fears : 

These  fears  were  increased  by  the  tidings  of  marvels  which  now  came 
from  many  places  at  once.  Some  soldiers'  spears  in  Sicily  had  burst  into 
a  blaze  ;  so  too  in  Sardinia  had  the  staff  which  an  officer  held  in  his 
hand  as  he  went  his  rounds  inspecting  the  sentries  on  the  wall ;  two 


34  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


shields  had  sweated  blood  ;  certain  soldiers  had  been  struck  by  light- 
ning ;  there  had  been  seen  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  ;  at  Pras-nes'te  blazing 
stones  had  fallen  from  the  sky  ;  at  Arpi  shields  had  been  seen  in  the 
sky,  and  the  sun  had  seemed  to  fight  with  the  moon  ;  at  Capua  two 
moons  had  risen  in  the  day-time  ;  the  stream  at  Cse're  had  flowed  half 
blood  ;  gouts  of  blood  had  been  seen  on  the  water  that  dripped  from  the 
spring  of  Hercules  ;  reapers  in  the  field  near  Antium  had  seen  the  ears 
fall  all  bloody  into  the  basket ;  at  Fa-le'ri-i  the  sky  had  seemed  parted 
by  a  huge  cleft,  while  an  overpowering  light  shone  forth  from  the  open- 
ing; certain  oracle  tablets  had  spontaneously  shrunk,  and  on  one  that 
fell  out  were  the  words,  "  Mars  shakes  his  spear  ; "  at  the  same  time, 
at  Rome,  sweat  came  out  on  the  statue  of  Mars  that  stands  in  the  Appian 
Road  by  the  images  of  the  wolves  ;  at  Cap'u-a  the  sky  had  seemed  to  be 
on  fire,  and  a  moon  to  fall  in  the  midst  of  a  shower.  Then  men  began 
to  believe  less  solemn  marvels.  Some  persons  had  had  goats  become 
sheep  ;  a  hen  had  changed  into  a  cock,  and  a  cock  into  a  hen.  The 
consul  gave  the  whole  story  at  length,  as  it  had  been  told  him,  at  the 
same  time  introducing  into  the  Senate  those  who  vouched  for  it,  and 
asked  the  opinion  of  the  House  on  the  religious  aspect  of  the  matter. 

Readers  will  wish  to  see  what  the  practical  Romans  con- 
sidered ought  to  be  done  under  such  gruesome  circum- 
stances : 

It  was  resolved  that  such  expiation  should  be  made  as  these  portents 
demanded,  with  victims,  some  of  which  should  be  full-grown,  some  suck- 
lings; that  public  prayers  should  be  offered  during  tliree  days  at  every 
shrine.  Every  thing  else  was  to  be  done  after  the  College  of  the  Ten 
had  inspected  the  holy  books,  in  such  fashion  as  they  might  declare 
from  the  proplrecies  to  be  pleasing  to  the  gods.  They  ordered  that  the 
first  offering,  of  gold  weighing  fifty  pounds,  should  be  made  to  Jupiter, 
that  to  Juno  and  Mi-ner'va  offerings  of  silver  should  be  presented  ;  that 
full-grown  victims  should  be  sacrificed  to  Juno  the  Queen  on  the  Av'en- 
tine  Hill,  and  to  Juno  the  Preserver  at  La-nu'vi-um  ;  that  the  matrons, 
collecting  a  sum  of  money,  as  much  as  it  might  be  convenient  for  each 
to  contribute,  should  carry  it  as  an  offering  to  Juno  the  Queen  on  the 
Aventine  ;  that  a  religious  feast  should  be  held,  and  that  even  the  very 
freedwomen  should  raise  contributions  according  to  their  means  for  a 
gift  to  the  goddess  Feronia.  After  all  this  the  College  of  the  Ten  sacri- 
ficed full-grown  victims  in  the  market-place  at  Ardea.  Last  of  all,  as 
late  as  December,  a  sacrifice  was  made  at  the  temple  of  Saturn  in  Rome  ; 
a  religious  feast  was  ordered  (furnished  by  the  Senators)  and  a  public 


Itvy.  35 

banquet ;  and  a  festival  of  Saturn  to  last  a  clay  and  a  night  proclaimed 
throughout  Rome.  This  day  the  people  were  enjoined  to  keep  and  ob- 
serve as  a  holiday  forever. 

All  did  not  avail.      The  overhanging  ruin  fell. 

Hannibal  struggled  forward  in  invasion  against  adverse  cir- 
cumstances that  might  well  have  cowed  a  less  resolute  spirit. 
Fla-min'i-us,  the  Roman  consul  in  command,  will  presently 
afford  the  Carthaginian  his  coveted  opportunity.  Flaminius 
was  a  headstrong  and  fiery  soul  that  could  brook  neither 
opposition  nor  delay.  Defying  every  expostulation  dis- 
suasive from  the  plan,  he  resolved  on  giving  Hannibal  bat- 
tle. His  soldiers  believed  in  Flaminius  but  too  well.  Their 
trust  was  their  ruin  and  his  own. 

Fiercely  from  the  council  of  war  unanimous  against  him, 
the  foolhardy  Flaminius  burst  forth  with  orders  to  pluck  up 
the  standard  and  advance  upon  Hannibal.  The  sequel  shall 
be  told  in  Livy's  own  words : 

Flaminius  himself  leapt  upon  his  horse,  when  lo  !  in  a  moment  the 
horse  fell,  throwing  the  consul  over  his  head.  Amid  the  terror  of  all  who 
stood  near — for  this  was  an  ill  omen  for  the  beginning  of  a  campaign — 
came  a  message  to  say  that  the  standard  could  not  be  wrenched  from  the 
ground,  though  the  standard-bearer  had  exerted  all  his  strength.  Turn- 
ing to  the  messenger,  the  consul  said,  "  Perhaps  you  bring  me  a  dispatch 
from  the  Senate,  forbidding  me  to  fight.  Go,  tell  them  to  dig  the  stand- 
ard out,  if  their  hands  are  so  numb  with  fear  that  they  cannot  wrench  it 
up."  The  army  then  began  its  march.  The  superior  officers,  not  to 
speak  of  their  having  dissented  from  the  plan,  were  alarmed  by  these 
two  portents ;  the  soldiers  generally  were  delighted  with  their  head- 
strong chief.  Full  of  confidence,  they  thought  little  on  what  their  con- 
fidence was  founded. 

Hannibal  devastated,  with  all  the  horrors  of  war,  the  country  between 
Cor-to'na  and  Lake  Trasumennus,  seeking  to  infuriate  the  Romans  into 
avenging  the  sufferings  of  their  allies.  They  had  now  reached  a  spot  made  for 
an  ambuscade,  where  the  lake  comes  up  close  under  tlie  hills  of  Cortona. 
Between  them  is  nothing  but  a  very  narrow  road,  for  which  room  seems 
to  have  been  purposely  left.  Farther  on  is  some  comparatively  broad, 
level  ground.     From  this  rise  the  hills,  and  here  in  the  open  plain  Ilan- 


36 


Coiles'e  Latin  Course  in  English. 


nibal  pitched  a  camp  for  himself  and  his  African  and  Spanish  troops 
only  ;  his  slingers  and  other  light-armed  troops  he  marched  to  the  rear 
of  the  hills  ;  his  cavalry  he  stationed  at  the  mouth  of  the  defile,  behind 
some  rising  ground  which  conveniently  sheltered  them.  When  the  Ro- 
mans had  once  entered  the  pass  and  the  cavalry  had  barred  the  way,  all 
would  be  hemmed  in  by  the  lake  and  the  hills. 

Flaminius  had  reached  the  lake  at  sunset  the  day  before.  On  the 
morrow,  without  reconnoitering  and  while  the  light  was  still  uncertain, 
he  traversed  the  narrow  pass.  As  his  army  began  to  deploy  into  the 
widening  plain,  he  could  see  only  that  part  of  the  enemy's  force  which 
was  in  front  of  him  ;  he  knew  nothing  of  the  ambuscade  in  his  rear  and 
above  his  head.  The  Carthaginian  saw  his  wish  accomplished.  He 
had  his  enemy  shut  in  by  the  lake  and  the  hills  and  surrounded  by  his 
own  troops.  He  gave  the  signal  for  a  general  charge,  and  the  attacking 
columns  flung  themselves  on  the  nearest  points.  To  the  Romans  the 
attack  was  all  the  more  sudden  and  unexpected  because  the  mist  from 
the  lake  lay  thicker  on  the  plains  than  on  the  heights,  while  the  hostile 
columns  on  the  various  hills  had  been  quite  visible  to  each  other,  and 
had,  therefore,  advanced  in  concert.  As  for  the  Romans,  with  the  shout 
of  battle  rising  all  around  them,  before  they  could  see  plainly,  they  found 
themselves  surrounded,  and  fighting  begun  in  their  front  and  their  flanks 
before  they  could  form  in  order,  get  ready  their  arms,  or  draw  their 
swords. 

Amidst  universal  panic  the  consul  showed  all  the  courage  that  could 
be  expected  in  circumstances  so  alarming.  The  broken  ranks,  in  which 
every  one  was  turning  to  catch  the  discordant  shouts,  he  reformed  as 
well  as  time  and  place  permitted,  and,  as  far  as  his  presence  or  his  voice 
could  reach,  bade  his  men  stand  their  ground  and  fight.  "  It  is  not  by 
prayers,"  he  cried,  "or  entreaties  to  the  gods,  but  by  strength  and 
courage  that  you  must  win  your  way  out.  The  sword  cuts  a  path 
through  the  midst  of  the  battle  ;  and  the  less  fear,  there  for  the  most 
part,  the  less  danger."  But,  such  was  the  uproar  and  confusion,  neither 
encouragements  nor  commands  could  be  heard  ;  so  far  were  the  men 
from  knowing  their  standards,  their  ranks,  or  their  places,  that  they  had 
scarcely  presence  of  mind  to  snatch  up  their  arms  and  address  them  to 
the  fight,  and  some  found  them  an  overwhelming  burden  rather  than  a 
protection.  So  dense  too  was  the  mist  that  the  ear  was  of  more  serv- 
ice than  the  eye.  The  groans  of  the  wounded,  the  sound  of  blows  on 
body  or  armor,  the  mingled  shouts  of  triumph  or  panic,  made  them  turn 
this  way  and  that  an  eager  gaze.  Some  would  rush  in  their  flight  on  a 
dense  knot  of  combatants  and  become  entangled  '^jr  the  mass  ;  others,  re- 


Livy.  3^ 

turning  to  the  battle,  would  be  carried  away  by  the  crowd  of  fugitives. 
But  after  awhile,  when  charges  had  been  vainly  tried  in  every  direction, 
when  it  was  seen  that  the  hills  and  the  lake  shut  them  in  on  either  side, 
and  the  hostile  lines  in  front  and  rear,  when  it  was  manifest  that  the 
only  hope  of  safety  lay  in  their  own  right  hands  and  swords,  then  every 
man  began  to  look  to  himself  for  guidance  and  for  encouragement,  and 
there  began  afresh  what  was  indeed  a  new  battle.  No  battle  was  it  with 
its  three  ranks  of  combatants,  its  vanguard  before  the  standards,  and  its 
second  line  fighting  beliind  them,  with  every  soldier  in  his  own  legion, 
cohort,  or  company  :  chance  massed  them  together,  and  each  man's  im- 
pulse assigned  him  his  post,  whether  in  the  van  or  rear.  So  fierce  was 
their  excitement,  so  intent  were  they  on  the  battle,  that  not  one  of  the 
combatants  felt  the  earthquake  which  laid  whole  quarters  of  many 
Italian  cities  in  ruins,  changed  the  channels  of  rapid  streams,  drove  the 
sea  far  up  into  rivers,  and  brought  down  enormous  landslips  from  the 
hills. 

For  nearly  three  hours  they  fought  fiercely  every-where,  but  with  es- 
pecial rage  and  fury  round  the  consul.  It  was  to  him  that  the  flower 
of  the  army  attached  themselves.  He,  wherever  he  found  his  troops 
pressed  hard  or  distressed,  was  indefatigable  in  giving  help  ;  conspicuous 
in  his  splendid  arms,  the  enemy  assailed  and  his  fellow-Romans  defended 
him  with  all  their  might.  At  last  an  Insubrian  trooper  (his  name  was 
Ducarius),  recognizing  him  also  by  his  face,  cried  to  his  comrades,  "  See! 
this  is  the  man  who  slaughtered  our  legions,  and  laid  waste  our  fields 
and  our  city  ;  I  will  offer  him  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  shades  of  my  coun- 
trymen whom  he  so  foully  slew."  Putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  charged 
through  the  thickest  of  the  enemy,  struck  down  the  armor-bearer  who 
threw  himself  in  the  way  of  his  furious  advance,  and  ran  the  consul 
through  with  his  lance.  When  he  would  have  stripped  the  body,  some 
veterans  thrust  their  shields  between  and  hindered  him. 

Then  began  the  flight  of  a  great  part  of  the  army.  And  now  neither 
lake  nor  mountain  checked  their  rush  of  panic  ;  by  every  defile  and 
height  they  sought  blindly  to  escape,  and  arms  and  men  were  heaped 
upon  each  other.  Many  finding  no  possibility  of  flight,  waded  into  the 
shallows  at  the  edge  of  the  lake,  advanced  until  they  had  only  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  water,  and  at  last  drowned  themselves.  Some  in 
the  frenzy  of  panic  endeavored  to  escape  by  swimming  ;  but  the  endeavor 
was  endless  and  hopeless,  and  they  either  sunk  in  the  depths  wlien  their 
courage  failed  them,  or  they  wearied  themselves  in  vain  till  they  could 
hardly  struggle  back  to  the  shallows,  where  they  were  slaughtered  in 
crowds   by  the  enemy's    cavalry   which   had    now    entered    the   water. 


38  College  Latin  Course  hi  English. 

Nearly  six  thousand  of  the  vanguard  made  a  determined  rush  through 
tlie  enemy,  and  got  clear  out  of  the  defile,  knowing  nothing  of  what  was 
happening  behind  them.  Halting  on  some  high  ground,  they  could 
only  hear  the  shouts  of  men  and  clashing  of  arms,  but  could  not  learn  or 
see  for  the  mist  how  the  day  was  going.  It  was  when  the  battle  was 
decided  that  the  increasing  heat  of  the  sun  scattered  the  mist  and  cleared 
the  sky.  The  bright  light  that  now  rested  on  hill  and  plain  showed  a 
ruinous  defeat  and  a  Roman  army  shamefully  routed.  Fearing  that 
they  might  be  seen  in  the  distance  and  that  the  cavalry  might  be  sent 
against  them,  they  look  up  their  standards  and  hurried  away  with  all 
the  speed  they  could.  The  next  day,  finding  their  situation  generally 
desperate,  and  starvation  also  imminent,  they  capitulated  to  Hannibal, 
who  had  overtaken  them  with  the  whole  of  his  cavalry,  and  who  pledged 
his  word  that  if  they  would  surrender  their  arms,  they  should  go  free, 
each  man  having  a  single  garment.  The  promise  was  kept  with  Punic 
faith  by  Hannibal,  who  put  them  all  in  chains. 

Such  was  the  famous  fight  at  Trasumennus,  memorable  as  few  other 
disasters  of  the  Roman  people  have  been.  Fifteen  thousand  men  fell 
in  the  battle;  ten  thousand,  flying  in  all  directions  over  Etruria,  made 
by  different  roads  for  Rome.  Of  the  enemy  two  thousand  five  hundred 
fell  in  the  battle.  Many  died  afterward  of  their  wounds.  Other  authors 
speak  of  a  loss  on  both  sides  many  times  greater.  I  am  myself  averse 
to  the  idle  exaggeration  to  which  writers  are  so  commonly  inclined,  and 
I  have  here  followed,  as  my  best  authority,  Fabius,  who  was  actually 
contemporary  with  the  war.  Hannibal  released  without  ransom  all  the 
prisoners  who  claimed  Latin  citizenship ;  the  Romans  he  imprisoned. 
He  had  the  corpses  of  his  own  men  separated  from  the  vast  heaps  of 
dead,  and  buried.  Careful  search  was  also  made  for  the  body  of  Fla- 
minius,  to  which  he  wished  to  pay  due  honor,  but  it  could  not  be  found. 

At  Rome  the  first  tidings  of  this  disaster  brought  a  terror-stricken  and 
tumultuous  crowd  into  the  Forum.  The  matrons  wandered  through  the 
streets  and  asked  all  whom  they  met  what  was  this  disaster  of  which  news 
had  just  arrived,  and  how  the  army  had  fared.  A  crowd,  thick  as  a 
thronged  assembly,  with  eyes  intent  upon  the  Senate-house,  called  aloud 
for  the  magistrates,  till  at  last,  not  long  before  sunset,  the  pr^tor, 
Mar'cus  Pom-po'ni-us,  said,  "  We  have  been  beaten  in  a  great  battle." 
Nothing  more  definite  than  this  was  said  by  him  ;  but  each  man  had 
reports  without  end  to  tell  his  neighbor,  and  the  news  which  they  car- 
ried back  to  their  homes  was  that  the  consul  had  perished  with  a  great 
part  of  his  troops,  that  the  few  who  had  survived  were  either  dispersed 
throughout  Etruria,  or  taken  prisoners  by  the  enemy. 


Livy.  39 

The  mischances  of  the  beaten  army  were  not  more  numerous  than  the 
anxieties  which  distracted  the  minds  of  those  whose  relatives  had  served 
under  Flaminius.  All  were  utterly  ignorant  how  this  or  that  kinsman 
had  fared  ;  no  one  even  quite  knew  what  to  hope  or  to  fear.  On  the 
morrow,  and  for  some  days  after,  there  stood  at  the  gates  a  crowd  in 
which  the  women  even  outnumbered  the  men,  waiting  to  see  their  rela- 
tives or  hear  some  tidings  about  them.  They  thronged  round  all  whom 
they  met,  with  incessant  questions,  and  could  not  tear  themselves  away, 
least  of  all  leave  any  acquaintance,  till  they  had  heard  the  whole  story 
to  an  end.  Different  indeed  were  their  looks  as  they  turned  away  from 
the  tale  which  had  filled  them  either  with  joy  or  grief,  and  friends 
crowded  round  to  congratulate  or  console  them  as  they  returned  to  their 
homes.  The  women  were  most  conspicuous  for  their  transports  and 
their  grief.  Within  one  of  the  very  gates,  a  woman  unexpectedly  meeting 
a  son  who  liad  escaped,  died,  it  is  said,  in  his  embrace  ;  another  who  had 
had  false  tidings  of  her  son's  death  and  sat  sorrowing  at  home,  expired 
from  excessive  joy  when  she  caught  sight  of  him  entering  the  house. 
The  praetors  for  some  days  kept  the  Senate  in  constant  session  from 
sunrise  to  sunset,  deliberating  who  was  to  lead  an  army,  and  what  army 
was  to  be  led  against  the  victorious  foe. 

The  foregoing,  if  not  literally  to  the  life,  is  surely  very  life- 
like. Livy  is  an  enchanting  writer.  It  is  difficult  to  pass 
by  any  thing,  where  every  thing  is  so  fine.  Lu-cre'ti-us,  the 
great  Roman  poet,  has  a  celebrated  jmssage — we  shall  by  and 
by  see  it — describing  the  not  wholly  unpleasing  emotions 
with  which  a  spectator  safe  on  shore  views  a  distressed  vessel 
at  sea.  Not  unlike  the  mixed  emotion  of  such  supposed  spec- 
tator was,  perhaps,  the  comfortable  pride  with  which  Livy 
could  himself  look  back,  and  summon  his  readers  to  look 
back,  on  the  forlorn  estate,  so  splendidly  in  the  event  to  be 
relieved  and  retrieved,  of  Rome  broken  by  Hannibal. 

Other  reverses  to  Roman  arms  followed  close  upon  the 
overthrow  of  Trasumennus.  An  unprecedented  expedient 
was  adopted.  A  dictator  was  created,  the  dictator  being 
Fabius  Maximus.  This  is  that  memorable  master  of  delay, 
destined  at  last  to  save  Rome  by  a  long  course  of  strongly 
doing  nothing.     He  stood  simply  a  rock  on  which  Hannibal 


4'^  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

dashed  himself  to  pieces — rather  he  was  a  yielding  mountain 
of  sand  on  which  the  sea  sought  in  vain  to  deliver  a  shock. 
The  unprecedented  thing  about  the  dictatorship  of  Fabius 
Maximus  was  not  that  he  was  made  dictator,  but  that  he 
was  made  dictator  directly  by  the  people,  no  consul  inter- 
vening. The  consul  was  absent,  and  the  necessity  would  not 
wait  for  his  return.  Livy  is  subsequently — somewhat  out  of 
place,  it  would  seem — at  pains  to  explain  a  fact  which  he 
takes  credit  to  himself  for  observing — that  Fabius  was  really 
not  proper  dictator  at  all,  but  only  pro-dictator. 
Mar'cus  Min-u'ci-us  Rufus  was  joined  to  Fa- 
bius, as  master  of  horse.  It  was  harnessing  to- 
gether in  one  team  a  restive  and  a  restless  steed 
— a  steed  that  would  not  stir,  and  a  steed  that 
FABIUS.  would  not  stand  still.  The  Romans,  with  all  their 
practical  genius  for  war  and  statesmanship,  made,  from  the 
foundation  of  the  Republic  down  to  the  foundation  of  the 
Empire,  the  singular,  the  almost  inexplicable,  blunder  of 
dividing  administrative  responsibility  between  two  men, 
placed  together  at  the  head  of  affairs.  It  is  a  marvel  that 
they  should  have  acted  thus,  but  the  marvel  is  more  that, 
thus  acting,  they  should  have  prospered  as  they  did.  Their 
prosperity,  enjoyed  in  spite  of  this  folly  of  theirs,  can  only 
be  attributed  to  the  qualities  of  the  national  character.  But 
we  must  not  judge  rashly.  For  us,  at  this  remove  of  time 
and  circumstance,  it  is,  perhaps,  unwarranted  to  pronounce 
positively  against  the  good  sense  of  the  Romans  in  their 
frame-work  of  government.  It  may  have  been  wise  jealousy 
of  kingly  power  that  made  them  divide  the  kingly  power  be- 
tween two  consuls.  Each  consul  should  act  as  effectual 
watch  against  attempt,  on  the  part  of  the  other,  to  grasp  at 
sovereign  sway,  to  the  detriment  of  that  aristocratical  liberty 
so  dear  to  the  Roman  heart. 

The  policy,  and  the  effects  of  the  policy,  adopted  by  Fabius 
Cunctator  (Fabius  Delayer),  are  thus  sketched  by  Livy: 


Ltvy. 


4t 


Always  reconnoitering  his  ground  most  carefully,  he  advanceil  against 
the  enemy,  resolved  nowhere  to  risk  any  thing  more  than  necessity  might 
compel.  The  first  day  that  he  pitched  his  camp  in  sight  of  the  enemy 
(the  place  was  not  far  from  Arpi),  Hannibal,  without  a  moment's  delay, 
led  out  his  men  and  offered  battle.  When  he  saw  that  all  was  quiet  in 
the  Roman  army,  and  that  there  was  no  sign  of  any  stir  in  their  camp, 
he  returned  to  his  quarters,  loudly  exclaiming  that  at  last  the  martial 
spirit  of  Rome  was  broken — they  had  made  open  confession  of  defeat 
and  yielded  the  palm  of  glory  and  valor.  But  in  his  lieart  was  a  secret 
fear  that  he  had  now  to  deal  with  a  general  very  different  from  Flamin- 
ius  or  Sempronius,  and  that,  taught  by  disasters,  the  Romans  had  at  last 
found  a  general  equal  to  himself.  He  felt  at  once  afraid  of  the  wariness 
of  the  new  dictator ;  of  his  firmness  he  had  not  yet  made  trial,  and  so 
began  to  harass  and  provoke  him  by  repeatedly  moving  his  camp  and 
wasting  under  his  eyes  the  territory  of  the  allies.  At  one  time  he  would 
make  a  rapid  march  and  disappear;  at  another  he  would  nrake  a  sudden 
halt,  concealed  in  some  winding  road,  where  he  hoped  that  he  might  catch 
his  antagonist  descending  to  the  plain.  Fabius  continued  to  move  his 
forces  along  high  ground,  preserving  a  moderate  distance  from  the  enemy, 
neither  letting  him  out  of  his  sight  nor  encountering  him.  He  kept  his 
soldiers  within  their  camp,  unless  they  were  required  for  some  necessary 
service.  When  they  went  in  quest  of  forage  or  wood,  it  was  not  in  small 
parties  or  at  random.  Pickets  of  cavalry  and  light  troops  were  told  off 
and  kept  in  readiness  to  meet  sudden  alarms,  a  constant  protection  to 
his  own  troops,  a  constant  terror  to  the  vagrant  marauders  of  the  enemy. 
He  refused  to  stake  his  all  on  the  hazard  of  a  general  engagement,  but 
slight  encounters,  of  little  importance  with  a  refuge  so  near,  could  be  safely 
ventured  on  ;  and  a  soldiery  demoralized  by  former  disasters  were  thus 
habituated  to  think  more  hopefully  of  their  own  courage  and  good  luck. 

The  relation   in  which  Rufus  placed  himself  to  Fabius  is 
indicated  by  Livy  in  the  following  sentences: 

But  these  sober  counsels  found  an  adversary  not  only  in  Hannibal, 
but  quite  as  much  in  his  own  master  of  the  horse,  who,  headstrong  and 
rash  in  counsel  and  intemperate  in  speech,  was  kept  from  ruining  his 
country  only  by  the  want  of  power.  First  to  a  few  listeners,  then  open- 
ly before  the  ranks  of  the  army,  he  stigmatized  his  commander  as  more 
indolent  than  deliberate,  more  cowardly  than  cautious,  fastening  on 
him  failings  which  were  akin  to  his  real  virtues,  and  seeking  to  exalt 
himself  by  lowering  his  chief— a  vile  art,  which  has  often  thriven  by  a 
too  successful  practice. 


42  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Hannibal  spread  consternation  among  the  Italian  allies  of 
Rome,  but  they  stood  fast  in  their  loyalty.  Their  steadfast- 
ness inspires  Livy  to  make  the  following  patriotically  self- 
complacent  remark: 

The  truth  was  that  they  were  under  a  righteous  and  moderate  rule, 
and  they  yielded — and  this  is  the  only  true  bond  of  loyalty — a  willing 
obedience  to  their  betters. 

Fabius  had  any  thing  but  a  tranquil  time  of  it  in  keeping 
resolutely  quiet.  Rufus  was  constantly  a  thorn  in  the  side 
of  his  impassible  commander.  Livy  invents  for  this  man — 
your  ideal  demagogue  he  was,  according  to  Livy — some  very 
spirited  harangues  in  character,  from  one  of  which  we  must 
have  a  representative  sentence  or  two.  The  Roman  army 
sitting  slill,  while  under  their  very  eyes  fire  and  sword  in 
Carthaginian  hands  Avere  wasting  Roman  allies,  Rufus  broke 
out : 

"  Have  we  come  hither  to  see,  as  though  it  were  some  delightful 
spectacle,  our  allies  wasted  by  fire  and  sword  ?  .  .  .  It  is  folly  to  think 
that  the  war  can  be  finished  by  sitting  still  and  praying.  You  must  take 
your  arms  ;  you  must  go  down  to  the  plain  ;  you  must  meet  the  enemy 
man  to  man.  It  is  by  boldness  and  action  that  the  power  of  Rome  has 
grown,  not  by  these  counsels  of  indolence,  which  only  cowards  call 
caution." 

The  effect  of  seditious  utterances  like  these  from  Rufus, 
was  vicious,  but  it  served  only  to  set  the  firmness  of  Fabius 
in  stronger  light.     Livy  says  : 

Fabius  had  to  be  on  his  guard  against  his  own  men  just  as  much  as 
against  the  enemy,  and  made  them  feel  that  they  could  not  conquer  his 
resolution.  Though  he  knew  well  that  his  policy  of  delay  was  odious, 
not  only  in  his  own  camp,  but  also  at  Rome,  yet  he  steadfastly  adhered 
to  the  same  plan  of  action,  and  so  let  the  summer  wear  away. 

An  incident  given  by  Livy  will  illustrate  the  course  of  the 
Fabian  campaign  : 

Man-ci'nus  was  one  of  the  crowd  of  youths  "who  frequently  listened 
to  the  fierce  harangues  of  the  master  of  the  horse.     At  first  he  moved 


Livy.  43 

simply  as  the  leader  of  a  reconnaissance,  watching  the  enemy  from  a 
place  of  safety,  but  when  he  saw  the  Numidian  troops  scattered  every- 
where in  the  villages,  and  even  cut  off  a  few  of  them  by  a  sudden  sur- 
prise, he  was  at  once  full  of  the  thought  of  battle,  and  wholly  forgot  the 
dictator's  instructions,  which  were  that  he  should  advance  as  far  as  he 
safely  could,  but  should  retreat  before  he  could  be  seen  by  the  enemy. 
The  Numidians,  now  attacking,  now  retreating,  drew  him  on,  his  men 
and  horses  alike  exhausted,  to  the  veiy  rampart  of  their  camp.  Here 
Carthalo,  who  was  in  supreme  command  of  the  cavalry,  charged  at  full 
gallop,  sent  his  adversaiy  flying  before  he  came  within  javelin  throw, 
and  followed  the  fugitives  for  five  miles  continuously.  When  Mancinus 
saw  that  the  enemy  would  not  desist  from  the  pursuit,  and  that  he  had 
no  hope  of  escaping,  he  encouraged  his  men,  and  turned  to  fight,  though 
in  no  respect  was  he  a  match  for  his  foe.  And  so  he  and  the  best  of  his 
troopers  were  surrounded  and  slain. 

Hannibal  was  a  famous  master  of  stratagem.  Here  is  a 
specimen  of  his  ready  resource  in  that  kind.  The  expedient 
described  was  adopted  by  Hannibal  to  extricate  himself 
from  a  desperate  situation  in  which  he  became  involved,  a 
situation  much  resembling  the  situation  in  which  he  had  him- 
self previously  involved  the  Romans.     Now  Livy  : 

The  deception  was  thus  arranc^ed. — Firewood  was  collected  from  all 
the  countiy  round,  and  bundles  of  twigs  and  dry  fagots  were  fastened  to 
the  horns  of  oxen,  of  which  he  had  many,  from  the  plundered  rural  dis- 
tricts, both  broken  and  unbroken  to  the  plow.  Upward  of  two  thou- 
sand oxen  were  thus  treated,  and  Hasdrubal  was  intrusted  with  the 
business  of  driving  this  herd,  with  their  horns  alight,  on  to  the  hills, 
more  particularly,  as  he  best  could,  to  those  above  the  passes  occupied 
by  the  enemy. 

In  the  dusk  of  evening,  he  silently  struck  his  camp  ;  the  oxen  were 
driven  a  little  in  front  of  the  standards.  When  they  reached  the  foot  of 
the  mountain,  where  the  roads  narrowed,  the  signal  was  immediately 
given  to  hurry  the  herd  with  their  horns  alight  up  the  slope  of  the  hills. 
They  rushed  on,  goaded  into  madness  by  the  terror  of  the  flames  which 
flashed  from  their  heads,  and  by  the  heat  which  soon  reached  the  flesh 
at  the  root  of  their  horns.  At  this  sudden  rush  all  the  thickets  seemed 
to  be  in  a  blaze,  and  the  very  woods  and  mountains  to  have  been  fired  ; 
and  when  the  beasts  vainly  shook  their  heads,  it  seemed  as  if  men  were 
running  about  in  every  direction.     The  troops  posted  in  the  pass,  seeing 


44  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

fires  on  the  hill-tops  and  above  them,  fancied  that  they  had  been  sur- 
rounded, and  left  their  position.  They  made  for  the  loftiest  heights  as 
being  their  safest  route,  for  it  was  there  that  the  fewest  flashes  of  light 
were  visible  ;  but  even  there  they  fell  in  with  some  of  the  oxen  which  had 
strayed  from  their  herd.  When  they  saw  them  at  a  distance,  they  stood 
thunderstruck  at  what  seemed  to  be  the  miracle  of  oxen  breathing 
fire.  As  soon  as  it  was  seen  to  be  nothing  but  a  human  contrivance, 
they  suspected  some  deep  stratagem  and  fled  in  wilder  confusion  than 
ever.  They  also  fell  in  with  some  of  the  enemy's  light-armed  troops, 
but  both  sides  were  equally  afraid  in  the  darkness  to  attack,  and  so  they 
remained  until  dawn.  Meanwhile  Hannibal  had  led  his  whole  army 
through  the  pass,  cutting  off",  as  he  went,  some  of  his  opponents,  and 
pitched  his  camp  in  the  territory  of  AUifae. 

At  the  same  time  with  the  warlike  operations  carried 
on  by  Hannibal  and  Fabius,  there  were  warlike  opera- 
tions between  Carthage  and  Rome  in  progress  in  Spain. 
But  we  follow  here  not  so  much  the  fortune  of  the  war, 
as  the  fortune  of  Hannibal  pitted  against  his  successive  an- 
tagonists. 

Fabius  did  not  conduct  his  command  in  a  manner  to  suit 
the  wishes  of  Hannibal.  In  fact,  Fabius  did  not  suit  any 
body's  wishes  in  his  manner  of  carrying  on  the  war.  His 
own  soldiers  chafed,  and  his  countrymen  at  home  were  in- 
dignant and  restless.  Hannibal  artfully  contrived  to  exas- 
perate the  prevalent  feeling  against  Fabius  still  more.  What 
the  Carthaginian  wanted  was  a  foe  that  would  fight.  He 
hoped  by  making  Fabius  unpopular  at  Rome  to  have  that 
general  ousted  from  his  command.  The  chance  then  was 
that  the  senate  would  send  some  general  against  him  that  he 
could  entice  into  battle.  The  following  was  the  deep  trick 
that  Hannibal  played.     Livy  : 

Deserters  had  pointed  out  to  him  the  dictator's  estate,  and  he  had 
given  orders  that,  while  every  thing  round  it  was  leveled  to  the  ground, 
it  should  be  kept  safe  from  fire  and  sword  and  all  hostile  violence,  hoping 
that  this  forbearance  might  be  thought  the  consideration  for  some  secret 
agreement. 


Livy.  45 

But  the  virtue  of  Fabius  was  more  than  a  match  for  the 
cunning  of  Hannibal.  That  very  estate  of  the  Roman,  so 
insidiously  spared  by  his  crafty  antagonist,  became,  with- 
out design  or  consciousness  perhaps  on  Fabius's  part,  the 
means  of  his  own  complete  vindication.  There  had  been  an 
exchange  of  prisoners  between  the  two  armies.  One  stipu- 
lation was  that  whichever  party  received  back  the  greater 
number  of  men,  should  pay  money  to  the  other,  at  the  rate 
of  two  pounds  and  a  half  of  silver  for  every  head  in  excess. 
Hannibal  brought  Fabius  in  debt  for  the  ransom  of  two  hun- 
dred and  forty-seven  prisoners.  The  senate,  taking  offense, 
because  not  previously  consulted,  were  slow  to  hand  over 
the  money.  Fabius  thereupon,  through  his  son,  sold  the 
estate  that  Hannibal  had  spared  and,  thus  enabled  to  do 
so,  discharged  the  public  obligation  out  of  his  own  private 
fortune. 

But  the  Commons  of  Rome  added  to  the  burden  that 
Fabius  was  bearing  for  his  country.  A  bill  was  passed,  ad- 
vancing the  factious  master  of  horse  to  equality  in  command 
with  the  dictator  himself.  Livy  very  finely  describes  the 
splendid  serenity  of  conscious  power  and  of  conscious  patri- 
otism, with  which,  under  the  sting  of  this  indignity  inflicted 
by  his  countrymen  upon  him,  Fabius  pauselessly  pursued 
his  way  back  to  his  army  from  his  visit  to  Rome  : 

All  men,  whether  at  Rome  or  in  the  army,  whether  friends  or  foes, 
took  the  bill  as  an  intentional  insult  to  the  dictator.  Not  so  the  dicta- 
tor himself.  In  the  same  dignified  spirit  in  which  he  had  borne  the 
charges  made  against  him  before  the  populace,  he  now  bore  tlie  wrong 
which  the  Commons  inflicted  in  their  rage.  The  dispatch  from  the 
Senate  announcing  the  equalization  of  military  authority  reached  him  on 
his  way.  Confident  that  the  commander's  skill  could  not  be  equalized 
along  with  the  right  to  command,  he  returned  to  the  army  with  a  soul 
that  neither  his  fellow-citizens  nor  the  enemy  could  subdue. 

If  Rufus  was  delighted,  not  less  delighted  was  Hannibal. 
The  Roman  army  was  divided,  and  two  separate  camps  were 


46  College  Latin  Course  in  Etiglish. 

formed.  This  latter  idea  was  the  preference  of  Rufus.  Livy 
has  few  more  eloquent  passages  than  that  in  which  he  de- 
scribes the  result.  The  result  was  almost  too  striking  to  be 
true.  It  reads  more  like  poetry  than  like  history.  Here  it 
is  in  Livy's  incomparable  narrative  : 

Hannibal  was  now  doubly  delighted,  and  not  a  single  movement  of 
his  foe  escaped  him.  The  deserters  told  him  much,  and  he  learnt  much 
from  his  own  spies.  He  would  entrap  in  his  own  fashion  the  frank 
rashness  of  Minucius,  while  the  experienced  Fabius  had  lost  half  of  his 
strength.  There  was  some  rising  ground  between  the  camp  of  Minucius 
and  that  of  the  Carthaginians,  and  it  was  clear  that  whoever  should  oc- 
cupy it,  would  thereby  make  the  enemy's  position  less  favorable.  It  was 
not  so  much  Hannibal's  desire  to  gain  this  without  fighting,  though  that 
would  have  been  worth  the  attempt,  as  to  find  in  it  the  occasion  of  a  battle 
with  Minucius,  who  would,  he  was  quite  sure,  sally  forth  to  oppose  him. 
AH  the  ground  between  them  seemed  at  first  sight  useless  for  purposes  of 
ambush.  Not  only  had  it  no  vestige  of  wood  about  it,  but  it  was  with- 
out even  a  covering  of  brambles.  In  reality,  nature  made  it  to  conceal 
an  ambush,  all  the  more  because  no  hidden  danger  could  be  feared  in 
so  bare  a  valley.  In  its  windings  were  caverns,  some  of  them  large 
enough  to  hold  two  hundred  armed  men.  Into  these  hiding  places, 
wherever  there  was  one  which  could  be  conveniently  occupied,  he  in- 
troduced five  thousand  infantry  and  cavalry.  Still  in  so  exposed  a 
valley  the  stratagem  might  be  discovered  by  the  incautious  movement  of 
a  single  soldier,  or  by  the  gleam  of  arms,  and  he  therefore  sent  a  few 
troops  at  early  dawn  to  occupy  the  hill  mentioned  before,  and  so  to  dis- 
tract the  attention  of  the  enemy.  To  see  them  was  to  conceive  at  once 
a  contempt  for  their  scanty  numbers.  Every  man  begged  for  the  task  of 
dislodging  the  enemy  and  occupying  the  place.  Conspicuous  among 
these  senseless  braggarts  was  the  general  himself,  as  he  called  his  men 
to  arms  and  assailed  the  enemy  with  idle  threats.  First  he  sent  his  light 
troops,  then  his  cavalry  in  close  array ;  at  last  seeing  that  the  enemy 
were  receiving  re-enforcements,  he  advanced  with  his  legions  in  order  of 
battle. 

Hannibal,  too,  as  the  conflict  waxed  fiercer  and  his  troops  were  hard 
pressed,  sent  again  and  again  infantry  and  cavalry  to  their  support,  till 
his  line  of  battle  was  complete,  and  both  sides  were  fighting  with  their 
whole  strength.  First  of  all  the  Roman  light-armed  troops,  attacking, 
as  they  did,  from  below  an  elevation  already  occupied,  were  repulsed  and 
thrust  back,  carrying  panic  with  them  into  the  cavalry  behind  and  flying 


Livy.  47 

until  they  reached  the  standards  of  the  legions.  It  was  the  infantry  that 
alone  stood  firm  amidst  the  route  and  seemed  likely,  if  once  they  had 
had  to  fight  a  regular  battle  in  face  of  the  enemy,  to  be  quite  a  match  for 
him.  The  successful  action  of  a  few  days  before  had  given  them 
abundance  of  courage  ;  but  the  ambushed  troops  unexpectedly  rose  upon 
them,  charged  them  on  the  flank  and  in  the  rear,  and  spread  such  confu- 
sion and  panic  that  they  lost  all  heart  for  fighting  and  all  hope  of  escape. 

Fabius  first  heard  the  cry  of  terror ;  then  saw  from  afar  the  broken 
lines.  "It  is  true,"  he  cried,  "disaster  has  overtaken  i^ashness,  but  not 
sooner  than  I  feared.  They  made  him  equal  to  Fabius,  but  he  sees  that 
Hannibal  is  his  superior  both  in  courage  and  in  good  fortune.  Another 
time,  however,  will  do  for  angry  reproof  and  censure  ;  now  advance  the 
standards  beyond  the  rampart.  Let  us  wring  from  the  enemy  his  victory, 
from  our  countrymen  the  confession  of  error." 

Many  had  already  fallen  and  many  were  looking  for  the  chance  to  fly, 
when  the  army  of  Fabius,  as  suddenly  as  if  it  had  dropped  from  heaven, 
appeared  to  help  them.  Before  javelins  were  thrown  or  swords  crossed, 
it  checked  the  Romans  in  their  headlong  flight,  the  enemy  in  the  fierce 
eagerness  of  their  attack.  Where  the  ranks  had  been  broken  and  the 
men  scattered  hither  and  thither,  they  hurried  from  all  sides  to  the  un- 
broken lines  ;  larger  bodies  had  retreated  together,  these  now  wheeled 
round  to  face  the  enemy  and  formed  square,  sometimes  slowly  retiring, 
sometimes  standing  in  firm  and  close  array.  By  the  time  that  the  beaten 
army  and  the  unbroken  army  had  all  but  combined  into  a  single  force 
and  were  advancing  against  the  enemy,  Hannibal  gave  the  signal  for 
retreat,  thus  openly  confessing  that,  as  he  had  conquered  Minucius,  so 
he  had  himself  been  worsted  by  Fabius. 

Returning  to  the  camp  late  on  this  day  of  checkered  fortune,  Minucius 
assembled  his  troops.  "  Soldiers,"  he  said,  "  I  have  often  heard  that  the 
best  man  is  he  who  can  tell  us  himself  what  is  the  right  thing  ;  that 
next  comes  he  who  listens  to  good  advice  ;  and  that  he  who  cannot 
advise  himself  or  submit  to  another,  has  the  meanest  capacity  of  all. 
Since  the  best  blessing  of  heart  and  understanding  has  been  denied  us, 
let  us  hold  fast  that  next  best  gift  which  is  between  the  two,  and  while 
we  learn  to  rule,  make  up  our  minds  to  obey  the  wise.  Let  us  join  our 
camp  to  the  camp  of  Fabius.  "U'hen  we  have  carried  our  standards  to 
his  head-quarters,  and  I  have  given  him  the  title  of  parent,  so  well  de- 
served by  the  service  which  he  has  done  us,  and  by  his  high  position, 
you,  my  soldiers,  will  salute  as  the  authors  of  your  freedom  the  men 
whose  right  hands  and  swords  lately  saved  you.  So  this  day  will  give 
us,  if  nothing  else,  yet  at  least  the  credit  of  having  grateful  hearts." 


48  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


The  signal  was  given,  and  proclamation  made  to  collect  the  camp 
equipage.  Then  they  started  and  marched  in  regular  array  to  the  dic- 
tator's camp,  much  to  his  wonder  and  that  of  those  who  stood  round 
him.  When  the  standards  were  set  up  before  the  hustings,  the  master  of 
the  horse  stepped  forward  and  called  Fabius  by  the  name  of  "  father," 
while  the  whole  array  saluted  as  "  authors  of  their  freedom  "  the  soldiers 
as  they  stood  grouped  around  their  commander.  "  Dictator,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  put  thee  on  a  level  with  my  parents  by  this  name,  and  it  is  all 
that  speech  can  do  ;  but  while  I  owe  to  them  life  only,  to  thee  I  owe  the 
safety  of  myself  and  of  all  these.  Therefore  I  am  the  first  to  reject  and 
repeal  that  decree  which  has  been  to  me  a  burden  rather  than  an  honor, 
and  praying  that  this  act  may  be  prospered  to  thee  and  me  and  to  these 
thy  armies,  the  preserver  and  the  preserved  alike,  I  put  myself  again 
under  thy  command  and  fortunes,  and  restore  to  thee  these  standards 
and  legions.  Forgive  us,  I  pray,  and  allow  me  to  keep  my  mastership 
of  the  horse,  and  each  of  these  his  several  rank." 

There  was  a  general  clasping  of  hands  ;  and  when  the  assembly  was 
dismissed,  the  soldiers  were  kindly  and  hospitably  invited  by  strangers 
as  well  as  friends.  Thus  a  day  which  but  a  few  hours  before  had  been 
full  of  sorrow  and  almost  of  unspeakable  disaster  became  a  day  of  mer- 
riment. In  Rome,  as  soon  as  the  news  of  this  incident  arrived,  followed 
and  confirmed  by  letters,  not  only  from  the  generals  but  from  many  per- 
sons in  either  army,  every  one  joined  in  extolling  Maximus  to  the  skies. 
Hannibal  and  the  Carthaginians  equally  admired  him.  They  felt  at  last 
that  it  was  with  Romans  and  in  Italy  that  they  were  fighting.  For  the 
last  two  years  they  had  so  despised  both  the  generals  and  the  soldiers  of 
Rome  that  they  could  scarcely  believe  themselves  to  be  fighting 
with  that  same  people  of  whom  they  had  heard  so  terrible  a  report 
from  their  fathers.  Hannibal,  too,  they  say,  exclaimed,  as  he  was  re- 
turning from  the  field,  "  At  last  the  cloud  which  has  been  dwelling  so 
long  upon  the  hills,  has  burst  upon  us  in  storm  and  rain." 

Our  readers  will,  by  this  time,  be  interested  in  knowing 
from  what  source  we  draw  our  excellent  English  translation 
of  Livy.  We  use  the  version — a  version  partial  as  yet 
—made  in  partnership  by  Messrs.  Church  and  Brodribb, 
respectively  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Universities,  in  En- 
gland. This  is  a  version  worthy  to  be  compared  for  work- 
manship with  the  best  English  transcripts  in  existence  from 
the  ancient  classics,  Latin  or    Greek.       The   same    accom- 


Livy.  49 

plished  translators  have  given  us  Tacitus  also  in  a  style 
equally  admirable. 

The  six  months'  dictatorship  of  Fabius  is  now  nearing  its 
close.  The  saviour  of  his  country  hands  over  his  army  to  the 
consuls,  who  pursue  the  policy  of  the  dictator  for  the  rest  of 
that  campaign. 

It  is  a  characteristic  Roman  trait — and  Livy  relates  it  with 
characteristic  spirit  and  pride — that  out  of  forty  massive  bowls 
of  gold  sent  Rome  by  Naples  to  succor  her  need,  with  accom- 
panying dutiful  words  of  good  liegeship  as  from  a  steadfast 
ally,  Rome  magnificently  accepted — the  lightest  one  only, 
with  thanks.  King  Hi'e-ro,  too,  of  Syracuse,  came  forward 
with  tribute  of  hel[).  Hiero  must  be  deemed  to  have  been 
more  fortunate  than  the  Neapolitans :  Rome  took  what  he 
offered. 

Consuls  Paulus  and  Varro  were  yoked  together  like  Fabius 
and  Rufus.  Repetition  of  the  folly  thus  committed  will  be 
followed  by  repetition  of  tlie  punishment  to  Rome.  Cannse 
is  now  close  at  hand.  The  two  consuls  bicker,  but  Varro 
the  rash  has  support  instead  of  Paulus  the  prudent.  Now 
for  a  good  stretch  of  Livy  again  : 

The  judgment  of  the  majority  prevailed,  and  the  army  moved  out  to 
make  Cann^,  for  so  destiny  would  have  it,  famous  forever  for  a  great 
Roman  defeat.  Hannibal  had  pitched  his  camp  near  that  village,  so  as 
not  to  face  the  wind  called  Vul-tur'nus,  which,  blowing  across  plains 
parched  with  drought,  carries  with  it  clouds  of  dust.  The  arrangement 
was  most  convenient  for  the  camp,  and  was  afterward  found  to  be  of 
similar  advantage  when  they  marshaled  their  troops  for  battle.  Their 
•  own  faces  were  turned  away  and  the  wind  did  but  blow  on  their  liacks, 
while  the  enemy  witli  wliom  they  were  to  fight  was  blinded  by  volumes 
of  dust. 

Tlic  consuls,  after  duly  reconnoitering  the  roads,  followed  the  Car- 
thaginians till  tliey  reached  Cannre,  where  they  had  the  enemy  in  siglit. 
They  then  intrenched  and  fortified  two  camps,  separating  their  forces 
by  about  the  same  distance  as  before  at  Ger-e-o'ni-um.  The  river 
Au'fi-dus,  which  flowed  near  both  camps,  furnished  water  to  both 
armies,  the  soldiers  approaching  as  they  most  conveniently  could,  not, 
3 


5o  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

however,  without  some  skirmishing.  From  the  smaller  camp,  which 
had  been  pitched  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Aufidus,  the  Romans  pro- 
cured water  with  less  difficulty,  as  the  opposite  bank  was  not  held  by 
any  hostile  force.  Hannibal  saw  his  hope  accomplished,  that  the  con- 
suls would  offer  battle  on  ground  made  for  the  action  of  cavalry,  in  which 
arm  he  was  invincible.  He  drew  up  his  men,  and  sought  to  provoke  his 
foe  by  throwing  forward  his  Numidian  troopers.  Then  the  Roman  camp 
was  once  more  disturbed  by  mutiny  among  the  troops  and  disagreement 
between  the  consuls.  Paulus  taunted  Varro  with  the  rashness  of 
Sempronius  and  Flaminius  ;  Varro  reproached  Paulus  with  copying 
Fabius,  an  example  attractive  to  timid  and  indolent  commanders,  and 
called  both  gods  and  men  to  witness  that  it  was  no  fault  of  his  if  Han- 
nibal had  now  a  prescriptive  possession  of  Italy.  "  I,"  said  he,  "have 
my  hands  tied  and  held  fast  by  my  colleague.  My  soldiers,  furious  and 
eager  to  fight,  are  stripped  of  their  swords  and  arms."  Paulus  declared 
that  if  any  disaster  befell  the  legions  recklessly  thrown  and  betrayed 
into  battle  without  deliberation  or  forethought,  he  would  share  all  their 
foitunes,  while  holding  himself  free  from  all  blame.  "Let  Varro  look 
to  it  that  they  whose  tongues  were  so  ready  and  so  bold,  had  hands 
equally  vigorous  in  the  day  of  battle." 

While  they  thus  wasted  the  time  in  disputing  rather  than  in  deliberat- 
ing, Hannibal,  who  had  kept  his  lines  drawn  up  till  late  in  the  day, 
called  back  the  rest  of  his  troops  into  his  camp,  but  sent  forward  tlie 
Numidian  cavalry  across  the  river  to  attack  the  water-parties  from  the 
smaller  of  the  two  Roman  camps.  Coming  on  with  shouting  and  uproar 
they  sent  the  undisciplined  crowd  flying  before  they  had  even  reached 
the  bank,  and  rode  on  till  they  came  on  an  outpost  stationed  before  the 
rampart  and  close  to  the  very  camp-gates.  So  scandalous  did  it  seem 
that  a  Roman  camp  should  be  alarmed  by  some  irregular  auxiliaries 
that  the  only  circumstance  which  hindered  the  Romans  from  imme- 
diately crossing  the  river  and  forming  their  line  of  battle  was,  that  the 
supreme  command  that  day  rested  with  Paulus.  But  the  next  day 
Varro,  without  consulting  his  colleague,  gave  the  signal  to  engage,  and 
drawing  up  his  forces  led  them  across  the  river.  Paulus  followed  him  ; 
he  could  withhold  his  sanction  from  the  movement,  but  not  his  support. 
The  river  crossed,  they  joined  to  their  own  the  forces  retained  by  them 
in  the  smaller  camp,  and  then  formed  their  lines.  On  the  right  wing 
(the  one  nearer  to  the  river)  they  posted  the  Roman  cavalry  and  next  the 
infantry.  On  the  extreme  flank  of  the  left  wing  were  the  allied  cavalry, 
next  the  allied  infantry,  side  by  side  with  the  Roman  legions  in  the 
center.      Slingers  and  other  light-armed  auxiliaries  made  up  the  first 


Livy.  51 

line,  r.iulus  commanded  the  lefl  wing  ;  Vano  tlie  right  ;  Ge-min'i-us 
Ser-vil'i-us  had  charge  of  tlie  center. 

At  dawn  Hannibal,  sending  in  advance  his  slingers  and  light-armed 
troops,  crossed  the  river,  assigning  each  division  its  position  as  it  crossed. 
His  Gallic  and  Spanish  cavalry  he  posted  near  the  river  bank  on  the  left 
wing,  facing  the  Roman  horse  ;  the  right  wing  was  assigned  to  the  Nu- 
niidian  cavalry  ;  the  center  showed  a  strong  force  of  infantry,  having 
on  either  side  the  African  troops,  with  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  between 
them.  These  Africans  might  have  been  taken  for  a  Roman  force  ;  so 
largely  were  they  equipped  with  weapons  taken  at  Trebia,  and  yet  more 
at  Trasumennus.  The  Gauls  and  Spaniards  had  shields  of  very  nearly 
the  same  shape,  but  their  swords  were  widely  different  in  size  and  form, 
the  Gauls  having  them  very  long  and  pointless,  while  the  Spaniards,  who 
were  accustomed  to  assail  the  enemy  with  thrusts  rather  than  with 
blows,  had  them  short,  handy,  and  pointed.  These  nations  had  a  spe- 
cially terrible  appearance,  so  gigantic  was  their  stature  and  so  strange 
their  look.  The  Gauls  were  naked  above  the  navel  ;  the  Spaniards  wore 
tunics  of  linen  bordered  with  purple,  of  a  whiteness  marvelously  daz- 
zling. The  total  number  of  the  infantry  who  were  that  day  ranged  in 
line  was  forty  thousand,  that  of  the  cavalry  ten  thousand.  Hasdrubal 
commanded  the  left  wing  ;  Maharbal  the  right  ;  Hannibal  himself,  with 
his  brother  Mago,  was  in  the  center.  The  sun — whether  the  troops  were 
purposely  so  placed,  or  whether  it  was  by  chance — fell  very  conveniently 
sideways  on  both  armies,  the  Romans  facing  the  south,  the  Carthagin- 
ians the  north.  The  wind  (called  Vulturnus  by  the  natives  of  those 
parts)  blew  straight  against  the  Romans  and  whirled  clouds  of  dust  into 
their  faces  till  they  could  see  nothing. 

With  a  loud  shout  the  au.xiliaries  charged,  the  light  troops  thus  begin- 
ning the  battle.  Next  the  Gallic  and  Spanish  horse  of  the  left  wing  en- 
countered the  right  wing  of  the  Romans.  The  fight  was  not  at  all  like  a 
cavalry  engagement  ;  they  had  to  meet  face  to  face  ;  there  was  no  room 
for  maneuvering,  shut  in  as  they  were  by  the  river  on  one  side  and  the 
lines  of  infantry  on  the  other.  Both  sides  pushed  straightforward  till, 
with  their  horses  brought  to  a  stand  and  crowded  together  in  a  mass, 
each  man  seized  his  antagonist  and  strove  to  drag  him  from  his  seat. 
The  struggle  now  became  mainly  a  struggle  of  infantry  ;  but  the  conflict 
was  i-ather  fierce  than  protracted.  The  Roman  cavalry  were  defeated 
and  put  to  flight.  Just  before  the  encounter  of  the  cavali-y  came  to  an 
end,  the  fight  between  the  infantry  began.  The  two  sides  were  well 
matched  in  strength  and  courage,  as  long  as  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards 
kept  their  ranks  unbroken;  at  last  the  Romans,  after  long  and  repeated 


52  College  Latin  Course  in  Englisli. 

efforts,  sloped  their  front  and  broke,  by  their  deep  formation,  the  enemy's 
cohimn,  which,  advanced  as  it  was  from  the  rest  of  the  line,  was  shallow 
and  therefore  weak.  Pursuing  the  broken  and  rapidly  retreating  foe, 
they  made  their  way  without  a  halt  through  the  rout  of  panic-stricken 
fugitives  till  they  reached,  first,  the  center  of  the  line,  and  then,  meeting 
with  no  check,  the  reserves  of  the  African  troops.  These  had  been  sta- 
tioned on  the  wings  which  had  been  somewhat  retired,  while  the  center, 
where  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  had  been  posted,  was  proportionately 
advanced.  As  that  column  fell  back,  the  line  became  level  ;  when  they 
pushed  their  retreat,  they  made  a  hollow  in  the  center.  The  Africans 
now  overlapped  on  either  side,  and  as  the  Romans  rushed  heedlessly 
into  the  intervening  space,  they  first  outflanked  them  and  then,  extend- 
ing their  own  formation,  actually  hemmed  in  their  rear.  Upon  this 
the  Romans,  who  had  fought  one  battle  to  no  purpose,  quitted  the  Gauls 
and  Spaniards,  whose  rear  they  had  been  slaughtering,  and  began  a  new 
conflict  with  the  Africans,  a  conflict  unfair,  not  only  because  they  were 
shut  in  with  foes  all  round  them,  but  because  they  were  wearied,  while 
the  enemy  was  fresh  and  vigorous. 

On  the  left  wing  of  the  Romans  the  cavalry  of  the  allies  had  been 
posted  against  the  Numidians.  Here,  too,  battle  had  been  joined,  though 
with  little  spirit  for  a  time,  the  first  movement  being  a  Carthaginian 
stratagem.  Nearly  five  hundred  Numidians  who,  besides  their  usual  ar- 
mor and  missiles  had  swords  hidden  under  their  cuirasses,  rode  out  frora 
their  own  line  with  their  shields  slung  behind  their  backs  as  though 
they  had  been  deserters,  leaped  in  haste  from  their  horses  and  threw 
their  shields  and  javelins  at  the  feet  of  the  Romans.  They  were  re- 
ceived into  the  center  of  the  line,  taken  to  the  extreme  rear,  and  bidden 
to  keep  their  place  behind.  While  the  battle  spread  from  place  to  place 
they  remained  motionless ;  but  as  soon  as  all  eyes  and  thoughts 
were  intent  on  the  conflict,  they  seized  the  shields  which  lay  scattered 
every-where  among  the  piles  of  dead,  and  fell  on  the  Roman  line  from 
the  rear.  They  wounded  the  backs  and  legs  of  the  men,  and  while  they 
made  a  great  slaughter,  spread  far  greater  panic  and  confusion.  While 
there  was  terror  and  flight  on  the  right,  and  in  the  center  an  obstinate 
resistance,  though  with  little  hope,  Hasdrubal,  who  was  in  command  in 
this  quarter,  withdrew  the  Numidians  from  the  center,  seeing  that  they 
fought  with  but  little  spirit,  and  having  sent  them  in  all  directions  to 
pursue  the  enemy,  re-enforced  with  the  Spanish  and  Gallic  cavalry  the 
African  troops,  wearied  as  they  now  were  witli  slaughter  rather  than 
with  fighting. 

Paulus  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  field.     He  had  Ijeen  seriously 


Livy.  53 

wounded  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  battle  l^y  a  Inillet  from  a  sling, 
but  yet  he  repeatedly  encountered  Hannibal  with  a  compact  body  of 
troops,  and  at  several  points  restored  the  fortune  of  the  day.  He  was 
protected  by  the  Roman  cavaliy,  who  at  last  sent  away  their  horses  when 
the  consul  became  too  weak  to  manage  his  charger.  Some  one  told 
Hannibal  that  the  consul  had  ordered  the  cavalry  to  dismount.  "  He 
might  better  hand  them  over  to  me  bound  hand  and  foot,"  said  he. 
The  horsemen  fought  on  foot  as  men  were  likely  to  fight,  when,  the  vic- 
tory of  the  enemy  being  beyond  all  doubt,  the  vanquished  preferred 
dying  where  they  stood  to  flight,  and  the  victors,  furious  with  those  who 
delayed  their  triumph,  slaughtered  the  foes  wliom  they  could  not  move. 
Move  them,  however,  they  did — that  is,  a  few  survivors,  exhausted  with 
wounds  and  fatigue.  All  were  then  scattered,  and  such  as  were  able  sought 
to  recover  their  horses  and  fly.  Cn.  [Cne'i-us]  Len'tu-lus,  as  he  galloped 
by,  saw  the  consul  sitting  on  a  stone  and  covered  with  blood.  "  Lucius 
/Emilius,"  he  cried,  "  the  one  man  whom  heaven  must  regard  as  guiltless 
of  this  day's  calamity,  take  this  horse  while  you  have  some  strength  left, 
and  I  am  here  to  be  with  you,  to  lift  you  to  the  saddle,  and  to  defend 
you.  Do  not  make  this  defeat  yet  sadder  by  a  consul's  death. 
There  is  weeping  and  sorrow  enough  without  this."  The  consul  re- 
plied, "Tis  a  brave  thought  of  thine,  Cn.  Cornelius;  but  waste  not 
the  few  moments  you  have  for  escaping  from  the  enemy  in  fruitless  pity. 
My  public  message  to  the  senators  is  that  they  must  fortify  Rome  and 
make  its  garrison  as  strong  as  may  be  before  the  victorious  enemy  ar- 
rives. My  private  message  to  Quintus  Fabius  is  that  Lucius  /Emilius 
remembered  his  teaching  in  life  and  death.  As  for  me,  let  me  breathe 
my  last  among  my  slaughtered  soldiers.  I  would  not  again  leave  my 
consulship  to  answer  for  my  life,  nor  would  I  stand  up  to  accuse  my  col- 
league, and  by  accusing  another  protect  my  own  innocence." 

While  they  thus  talked  together,  they  were  overtaken,  first  by  a  crowd 
of  Roman  fugitives  and  then  by  the  enemy.  These  last  buried  the  consul 
under  a  shower  of  javelins,  not  knowing  who  he  was.  Lentulus  gal- 
loped off"  in  the  confusion.  The  Romans  now  fled  wildly  in  every  direc- 
tion. .Seven  thousand  men  escaped  into  the  smaller,  ten  thousand  into 
the  larger  camp,  ten  thousand  more  into  the  village  of  Cannce  itself. 
These  last  were  immediately  surrounded  by  Car'tha-lo  and  the  cavalry, 
for  no  fortification  protected  the  place.  The  other  consul,  who,  whether 
by  chance  or  of  set  purpose,  had  not  joined  any  large  body  of  fugitives, 
fled  with  about  five  hundred  horsemen  to  Ve-nu'si-a.  Forty-five  thou- 
sand five  hundred  infantry,  two  thousand  seven  hundred  cavalry,  and 
almost  as  many  more  citizens  and  allies  are  said  to  have  fallen.     Among 


54  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

these  were  the  qusestors  of  both  consuls,  Lucius  Atilius  and  Furius 
Bi-bac'u-lus,  twenty-nine  tribunes  of  the  soldiers,  not  a  few  ex-consuls, 
ex-pr£Etors,  and  ex-sediles  (among  them  Cn.  Servilius  and  Marcus  Mi- 
nucius,  who  the  year  before  had  been  the  master  of  the  horse,  and  consul 
some  years  before  that),  eighty  who  were  either  actual  senators  or  had  filled 
such  offices  as  made  them  eligible  for  the  Senate,  and  who  had  volun- 
teered to  serve  in  the  legions.  In  this  battle  three  thousand  infantry 
and  one  thousand  five  hundred  cavalry  are  said  to  have  been  taken 
prisoners. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Cannoe,  as  famous  as  the  disaster  at  the  Allia, 
and  though  less  serious  in  its  consequences,  thanks  to  the  inaction  of 
the  enemy,  yet  in  loss  of  men  still  more  ruinous  and  disgraceful.  The 
flight  at  the  Allia  lost  the  city  but  .saved  the  army  ;  at  Cannje  the  con- 
sul who  fled  was  followed  by  barely  fifty  men  ;  with  the  consul  who 
perished,  perished  nearly  the  whole  army. 

Livy  perhaps  was  mistaken,  but,  according  to  Livy,  Han- 
nibal did  not  quite  prove  a  match  to  the  greatness  of  his  own 
triumph — the  excess  of  his  victory  defeated  him.  Livy  thus 
relates  what  one  can  only  guess  how  he  knew : 

Round  the  victorious  Hannibal  crowded  his  officers  with  congratula- 
tions and  entreaties  that  now  that  this  mighty  war  was  finished  he 
should  take  what  remained  of  that  day  and  the  following  night  for  rest, 
and  give  the  same  to  his  wearied  soldiers.  Maharbal,  the  general  of  his 
cavalry,  thought  that  there  should  be  no  pause.  "  Nay,"  he  cried,  "  that 
you  may  know  what  has  been  achieved  by  this  victory,  you  shall 
hold  a  conqueror's  feast  within  five  days  in  the  Capitol.  Pursue  them; 
I  will  go  before  you  with  my  cavalry,  and  they  shall  know  that  you  are 
come  before  they  know  that  you  are  coming."  Hannibal  felt  that  his 
success  was  too  great  for  him  to  be  able  to  realize  it  at  the  moment. 
"  He  commended,"  he  said,  "  Maharbal's  zeal,  but  he  must  take  time  to 
deliberate."  Maharbal  replied,  "  Well,  the  gods  do  not  give  all  gifts  to 
one  man.  Hannibal,  you  know  how  to  conquer ;  not  how  to  use  a 
conquest."  That  day's  delay  is  believed  to  have  saved  Rome  and  its 
empire. 

Scipio,  destined  to  be  Scipio  Af-ri-ca'nus,  now  makes  a 
grand  theatric  entrance  upon  the  scene — amid  the  general 
dismay  the  one  figure  at  Rome  that  rose  greater  than  the 
greatness  of  the  ruin  around  him.     Always  equal  to  his  most 


Livy.  55 

Roman  occasion,  Livy  thus  shows  "  Scipio,  the  highth  of 
Rome,"  striding  out  into  the  blaze  of  history,  lil<e  a  triumph- 
ant 'tragedian  saluting  his  audience  from  behind  the  foot- 
lights upon  the  boards  where  he  reigns  : 

The  supreme  command  was  unanimously  assigned  to  Scipio,  \rho  was 
a  very  young  man,  and  to  Claudius.  They  were  holding  council  with  a 
few  friends  about  the  state  of  affairs,  when  Publius  Furius  Philus,  whose 
father  was  an  ex-consul,  said  that  it  was  idle  for  them  to  cling  to  ut- 
terly ruined  hopes.  The  State,  he  declared,  was  given  over  for  lost.  Cer- 
tain young  nobles  with  Lu'ci-us  Cre-cil'i-us  Me-tel'lus  at  their  head, 
were  thinking  of  flying  beyond  sea  and  deserting  their  country  for  the 
service  of  some  foreign  king.  In  face  of  a  peril,  terrible  in  itself, 
and  coming  with  fresh  force  after  so  many  disasters,  all  present  stood 
motionless  in  amazement  and  stupefaction.  They  proposed  that  a 
council  should  be  called  to  consider  the  matter,  but  the  young  Scipio, 
Rome's  predestined  champion  in  tiiis  war,  declared  that  it  was  no  time 
for  a  council.  "  We  must  dare  and  act,"  he  said,  "  not  deliberate,  in 
such  awful  calamity.  Let  all  who  desire  the  salvation  of  their  country, 
come  armed  with  me.  No  camp  is  more  truly  a  camp  of  the  enemy  than 
that  in  which  men  have  such  thoughts."  He  immediately  started  with  a 
few  followers  for  the  house  of  Metellus  ;  there  he  found  a  gathering  of  the 
youths  of  whom  he  had  heard.  Drawing  his  sword  over  the  heads  of  the 
conspirators,  "It  is  my  fixed  resolve,"  he  cried,  "  as  I  will  not  myself 
desert  the  commonwealth  of  Rome,  so  not  to  suffer  any  other  Roman 
citizen  to  desert  it ;  if  I  knowingly  fail  therein,  almighty  and  merciful 
Jupiter,  smite  me,  my  house,  and  fortunes  with  utter  destruction.  I  in- 
sist that  you,  Lucius  Ccecilius,  and  all  others  present,  take  this  oath 
after  me.  Whoever  takes  it  not  may  be  sure  this  sword  is  drawn  against 
him."  They  were  as  frightened  as  if  they  saw  the  victorious  Hannibal 
before  them,  and  to  a  man  they  swore  and  delivered  themselves  to  the 
custody  of  Scipio. 

Was  not  this  Scipio  a  born  master  of  men  }  Or,  if  he  was 
not  really  such,  did  not  Livy  nobly  imagine  him  such.'' 

Some  small  remnant  of  the  Roman  force  escaped  from  the 
destruction  at  Cannae.  But  (Livy  again  now,  in  description 
of  the  state  of  things  existing  in  the  capital )  : 

At  Rome  report  said  that  no  such  mere  remnant  of  citizens  and  allies 
survived,  but  that  the  army  with  the  two  consuls  had   l)ecn  utterly  do- 


56  College  Latin   Course  in  English. 

stroyed,  and  that  the  whole  force  had  ceased  to  exist.  Never  before, 
with  Rome  itself  still  safe,  had  there  been  such  panic  and  confusion 
within  our  walls.  I  shall  decline  the  task  of  attempting  a  lengthened 
description  which  could  not  but  be  far  inferior  to  the  truth.  The  year 
before  a  consul  with  his  army  had  perished  at  Trasumennus  ;  it  was 
not  wound  after  wound,  but  multiplied  disasters  that  were  announced. 
Two  consuls  and  the  armies  of  two  consuls  had  perished.  Rome  had 
now  no  camp,  no  general,  no  soldiers.  Hannibal  was  master  of  Apulia, 
of  Samnium,  of  nearly  the  whole  of  Italy,  Certainly  there  was  not  a 
nation  in  the  world  which  would  not  have  been  overwhelmed  by  such  a 
weight  of  calamity.  Compare,  for  instance,  the  blow  which  the  Cartha- 
ginians received  in  the  sea-fight  at  the  ^-ga'tes  Islands,  a  blow  which 
made  them  evacuate  Sicily  and  Sardinia  and  allow  themselves  to  be 
burdened  with  indemnity  and  tribute  ;  compare  again  the  defeat  in 
Africa,  by  which  Hannibal  himself  was  subsequently  crushed.  In  no 
respect  are  they  comparable  with  Cannae,  except  because  they  were 
borne  with  less  courage. 

How  Livy  rejoices  to  pluck  a  garland  of  glory  for  Rome 
off  the  very  acme  and  summit  of  her  utmost  disaster!  And 
unquestionable  fact  abundantly  justifies  the  historian's  au- 
dacity. Rome  was  truly  a  wonderful  nation — the  very  in- 
carnation of  virtue,  as  she  conceived  virtue,  and  as  virtue, 
under  the  tuition  of  her  conquering  power,  came,  in  pagan 
antiquity,  to  be  universally  conceived.  The  sound  itself,  of 
her  name,  is  a  spell  to  call  up  the  idea  of  such  character. 

For  all  this,  however,  there  was  a  dreadful  panic  at  Rome. 
The  Romans  did  not  doubt  that,  of  course,  Hannibal  would 
immediately  march  upon  the  city.  The  forum  was  filled 
with  people  dinning  each  other's  ears  with  dismal  lamenta- 
tion. Under  the  counsel  and  authority  of  Fabius,  order  was 
restored  ;  and  now  came  unlooked  for  news  from  consul  Caius 
Terentius.  Ten  thousand  demoralized  Roman  soldiers  had 
survived  the  calamity  at  Cannre  ;  Hannibal  remained  inactive 
in  quarters,  "trafficking  about  tlie  ransom  of  the  prisoners 
and  the  other  booty  in  any  thing  but  the  spirit  of  a  conqueror, 
in  any  thing  but  the  fashion  of  a  great  general."  The  truth 
is,  Hannibal  was  yet  but  a  youth.     Perhaps  it  may  justly  be 


Livy.  57 

suspected    that   to   him,  as   to  Alexander  the    Great,  the  su- 
preme good  fortune  of  his  life  arrived  too  soon. 

Still,  the  conduct  which  Livy  reports  of  Hannibal  consists 
well  with  the  supposition  that,  notwithstanding  his  astonish- 
ing success,  the  great  Carthaginian  continued  to  feel  some 
awe  of  the  foe  he  had  conquered.  Perhaps,  also,  there  were 
reasons  that  can  only  be  guessed  at,  honorable  to  the  genius 
and  character  of  Hannibal,  why  he  did  not  follow  up  his 
apparently  overwhelming  advantage,  with  instant  advance  on 
panic-stricken  Rome.  Mommsen  does  not  hesitate  to  say 
concerning  Hannibal,  "  He  knew  Rome  better  than  the 
simpletons,  who  in  ancient  [Livy  himself  then,  perhaps  .?]  and 
modern  times  have  fancied  that  he  might  have  terminated 
the  struggle  by  a  march  on  the  enemy's  capital."  Mommsen 
is  a  good  hero-worshiper,  and  Hannibal  is  one  of  his  favor- 
ite heroes.  For  the  years,  following  Cannse,  of  indecisive 
warlike  operations  conducted  by  Hannibal  in  Italy,  the 
German  historian  is  so  far  from  blaming  his  hero,  that  he 
finds  in  these  transactions  fresh  matter  of  praise.  "  We 
hardly,"  he  says,  "  recognize  in  the  obstinate  defensive  sys- 
tem which  he  now  began  the  same  general  who  had  carried 
on  the  offensive  with  almost  unequaled  impetuosity  and 
boldness ;  it  is  marvelous,  in  a  psychological  as  well  as  in  a 
military  point  of  view,  that  the  same  man  should  have  ac- 
complished the  two  tasks  prescribed  to  him — tasks  so  diamet- 
rically opposite  in  their  character — with  equal  completeness." 

The  slowly  losing  game  of  obstinate  defense  on  Hannibal's 
part,  however  masterly  may  have  been  his  management  of  it, 
we  have  no  room  here  to  display.  We  go  back  for  a  moment 
to  the  immediate  sequel  of  Cannae.  What  Hannibal  first 
did,  and  how  meantime  Rome,  on  her  part,  bore  herself 
toward  her  apparently  omnipotent  foe,  Livy  himself  shall 
tell  in  his  sympathetically  spirited  way  : 

Hannibal,  after   his   great    success  at    Cannsc,   was  bent  on  schemes 
which  suited  a  conqueror  rather  than   one  who  had  yet  a  war  to  wage. 
3* 


58  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

The  prisoners  were  brought  out  and  classified  ;  the  allies,  as  he  had 
done  before  at  Trebia  and  Lake  Trasumennus,  he  dismissed  with  some 
kind  words.  The  Romans  too  he  addressed,  as  he  had  never  done  be- 
fore, in  quite  gentle  terms  ;  he  had  no  deadly  feud,  he  said,  willi  Rome  ; 
lie  was  fighting  for  freedom  and  empire.  His  fathers  had  yielded  to  the 
valor  of  Rome  ;  he  was  now  doing  his  utmost  that  Rome  should  yield  in 
turn  to  his  own  valor  and  good  fortune.  He  would  therefore  give  the 
prisoners  an  opportunity  of  ransoming  themselves  ;  the  sum  would  be  five 
hundred  "  chariot "  pieces  for  each  horseman,  three  hundred  for  each  foot 
soldier,  one  hundred  for  each  slave.  The  price  put  on  the  horsemen  was 
somewhat  larger  than  that  which  had  been  agreed  upon  when  they  surren- 
dei-ed,  but  they  joyfully  accepted  any  kind  of  terms  which  permitted  them 
to  treat.  It  was  resolved  that  they  should  themselves  elect  ten  deputies, 
who  were  to  go  to  the  Senate  at  Rome.  No  security  was  taken  for 
their  good  faith,  except  an  oath  that  they  would  return.  One  Carthalo, 
a  noble  of  Carthage,  was  sent  with  them,  bearing  conditions  of  peace, 
if  there  should  chance  to  be  any  inclination  in  that  direction.  After 
they  had  left  the  camp,  one  of  their  number,  a  man  who  had  none  of  a 
Roman's  temper,  pretending  that  he  had  forgotten  something,  returned 
to  the  camp,  so  as  to  acquit  himself  of  his  oath,  and  before  night  over- 
took his  companions.  As  soon  as  it  was  announced  that  they  were  on 
their  way  to  Rome,  a  lictor  was  sent  to  meet  Carthalo  with  a  message 
that  he  was  to  quit  Roman  territory  before  nightfall. 

The  delegates  of  the  Roman  prisoners  held  in  Carthagin- 
ian hands,  were  permitted  to  plead  their  cause  themselves 
before  the  senate.  Livy  contrives  an  admirable  speech  for 
them — which  we  must  omit.  The  effect  was  powerful — it  was 
likely  to  prove  overwhelming — in  favor  of  a  ransoming  of  the 
prisoners.  At  the  critical  moment,  however,  an  old-fashioned 
Roman  voice  was  found  to  utter  itself  against  the  proposal ; 
and  the  prisoners  at  last  were  left  to  their  fate.  Such  was 
the  stern  temper  of  Roman  virtue.  Roman  soldiers  were 
emphatically  taught  that  their  only  safety  in  war  was  to  con- 
quer. No  terms  could  be  thought  of,  on  which  defeated 
troops  were  wanted  at  Rome.  One  incident  of  the  occasion 
is  too  striking  to  be  withheld : 

One  of  them   [the  captive   Romans]   went  to  his  home,   as  having 
quitted  himself  of  his  oath  by  the  pretense  of  his  return  to  the  camp. 


Livy.  59 

When  this  became  known  and  reached  the  ears  of  the  Senate,  they 
unanimously  voted  that  the  man  should  be  seized  and  taken  under  an 
escort  furnished  by  the  State  to  Hannibal. 

Livy,  after  telling  his  story,  as  above,  about  the  prisoners, 
conscientiously  adds  that  there  were  conflicting  reports  rel- 
ative to  the  true  state  of  the  facts.  Having  mentioned  some 
of  these,  he  composedly  dismisses  the  point  with  the  remark, 
"We  may  wonder  why  our  authorities  differ  so  much  from 
each  other,  more  easily  than  determine  what  is  true." 

The  allies  of  Rome  began  now  to  forsake  her.  Livy  gives 
a  formidable  list  of  these  losses  to  Rome.  He  then  loftily 
adds : 

Yet  all  these  disasters  and  defections  never  made  the  Romans  so 
much  as  mention  peace,  either  before  the  consul  returned  to  Rome,  or 
after  his  return  had  renewed  the  remembrance  of  the  terribk  loss  sus- 
tained. On  this  latter  occasion,  indeed,  such  was  the  high  spirit  of  the 
country,  that  when  the  consul  returned  after  this  great  disaster  of  which 
he  had  hi.mself  been  the  chief  cause,  all  classes  went  in  crowds  to  meet 
him,  and  he  was  publicly  thanked  because  "  he  had  not  despaired  of  the 
commonwealth." 

Livy  contrasts,  with  all  confidence  certainly,  and  probably 
with  truth,  what,  in  a  different  case,  would  have  befallen  the 
consul : 

Had  he  been  a  Carthaginian  general,  they  knew  that  there  was  no 
torture  which  he  would  not  have  had  to  suffer. 

We  have  now  got  to  the  end  of  the  second  book  of  Livy's 
third  decade.  But  we  shall  not  fairly  have  presented  the 
state  of  things  created  at  Rome  by  the  disaster  of  Cannre, 
without  mention  of  the  fact  that  there  were  fearful  omens 
observed  by  the  Romans  and  fearful  expiations  accomplished 
to  the  gods.  Livy  seems  to  shudder  rhetorically  as  he  gives 
his  account  of  the  latter: 

In  obedience  to  the  books  of  Fate,  some  umisual  sacrifices  \\»ere  of- 
fered. Among  them  were  a  raan  and  a  woman  of  Gaul,  and  a  man  and 
a  woman  of  Greece,  who  were  buried  alive  in  the  Ox-maiket  in  a  stone- 


6o  College  Latin  Course  in  En^i:;Iis}i. 


vaulted  chamber,  not  then  for  the  first  time  polluted  by  what  Roman 
feeling  utterly  abhorred,  human  sacrifice. 

The  rest  of  the  story  of  Hannibal  stretches  out  too  long 
for  us  to  give  it  here  in  any  detail.  He  has  now  reached 
the  height  of  his  prosperity.  It  remains  for  him  henceforth 
to  the  end  of  his  protracted  career  to  display  his  greatness 
under  adversity.  He  was  tried,  in  every  ^'icissitude  of  for- 
tune, by  every  experiment  of  situation,  and  he  was  seldom, 
perhaps  never,  found  wanting.  He  was  more  than  simply  a 
great  general.     He  was  a  truly  great  man. 

From  Italy  the  war  at  length  was,  by  Scipio's  motion  and 
under  his  conduct,  transferred  into  Africa.  Carthage,  who 
would  not  support  her  illustrious  son  abroad,  now  summoned 
that  son  to  her  own  support  at  home.  Hannibal  loyally  came 
at  the  call  of  his  country  and  joined,  with  his  brilliant  antago- 
nist, Scipio,  the  great  battle  of  Za'ma.  Scipio  conquered,  and 
Carthage  was  at  the  mercy  of  Rome.  Hannibal,  without  an 
army,  and  a  fugitive  from  land  to  land,  was  still  formidable 
to  his  ancient  foe.  But  the  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  the  indomitable  Carthaginian.  What — after  having 
first  sought  in  vain  to  inspire  the  stolid  mercantile  oligarchy 
of  Carthage  with  his  own  spirit  of  patriotic  hostility  to  Rome, 
and  then  in  vain  to  make  An-ti'o-chus  of  Asia  let  him  demon- 
strate how  Rome  might  yet  be  conquered — what,  we  say, 
after  all  this,  Hannibal  finally  attempted  and  suffered,  we 
shall  allow  Mommsen,  the  modern  German  historian,  to  display 
in  brief  to  our  readers.  Mommsen,  it  will  be  observed — after 
a  not  infrequent  manner  of  his — suggests,  and  brilliantly 
suggests,  more  than  he  narrates.     He  says  : 

"  There  nowhere  existed  a  state  that  the  Romans  would 
have  deemed  it  worth  while  to  fear.  But  there  still  lived  a 
man  to  whom  Rome  accorded  this  rare  honor — the  homeless 
Carthaginian,  who  had  raised  in  arms  against  Rome  first  all 
tlie  West  and  then  all  the  East,  and  whose  schemes  had  been 
frustrated  solely  perhaps  by  infamous  aristocratic  policy  in 


Livy.  6 1 

the  one  case,  and  by  stupid  court  policy  in  the  other.  An- 
tiochus  had  been  obHged  to  bind  himself  in  the  treaty  of 
peace  to  deliver  up  Hannibal ;  but  the  latter  had  escaped, 
first  to  Crete,  then  to  Bithynia,  and  now  lived  at  the  court 
of  Pru'si-as,  king  of  Bithynia,  employed  in  aiding  the  latter  in 
his  wars  with  Eumenes,  and  victorious  as  ever  by  sea  and  by 
land.  It  is  affirmed  that  he  was  desirous  of  stirring  up  Pru- 
sias  also  to  make  war  on  Rome  :  a  folly,  which,  as  it  is  told, 
sounds  very  far  from  credible.  It  is  more  certain  that,  while 
the  Roman  senate  deemed  it  beneath  its  dignity  to  have  the 
old  man  hunted  out  in  his  last  asylum — for  the  tradition 
which  inculpates  the  senate  appears  to  deserve  no  credit — 
Flam-i-ni'nus,  whose  restless  vanity  sought  after  new  oppor- 
tunities for  great  achievements,  undertook  on  his  own  part 
to  deliver  Rome  from  Hannibal  as  he  had  delivered  the 
Greeks  from  their  chains,  and,  if  not  to  wield — which  was  not 
diplomatic — at  any  rate  to  whet  and  to  point,  the  dagger 
against  the  greatest  man  of  his  time.  Prusias,  the  most  pitiful 
among  the  pitiful  princes  of  Asia,  was  delighted  to  grant  the 
little  favor  which  the  Roman  envoy  in  ambiguous  terms  re- 
quested ;  and  when  Hannibal  saw  his  house  beset  by  assassins, 
he  took  poison.  He  had  long  been  prepared  to  do  so,  adds  a 
Roman,  for  he  knew  the  Romans  and  the  faith  of  kings.  The 
year  of  his  death  is  uncertain  ;  probably  he  died  in  the  latter 
half  of  the  year  571  [U.  C,  /.  e.,  183  B.  C.],  at  the  age  of  sixty- 
seven.  When  he  was  born,  Rome  was  contending  with  doubt- 
ful success  for  the  possession  of  Sicily  ;  he  had  lived  long 
enough  to  see  the  West  wholly  subdued,  and  to  fight  his  own 
last  battle  with  the  Romans  against  the  vessels  of  his  native 
city  which  had  itself  become  Roman  ;  and  he  was  constrained 
at  last  to  remain  a  mere  spectator  while  Rome  overpowered 
the  East  as  the  tempest  overpowers  the  ship  that  has  no  one  at 
the  helm,  and  to  feel  that  he  alone  was  the  pilot  that  could 
have  weathered  the  storm.  There  was  left  to  him  no  further 
hope  to  be  disappointed,  when  he  died;  but  he  had  honestly, 


62  College  Latin  Course  in  E>iglish. 

through  fifty  years  of  struggle,  kept  the  oath  which  he  had 
sworn  when  a  boy." 

(Readers  need  to  note  that  Mommsen  reckons  his  dates 
from  the  founding  of  Rome.) 

In  offset  to  the  foregoing  epically  conceived  and  epically 
expressed  farewell  from  Mommsen  to  Hannibal,  read  the  im- 
mediately connected  dismissal,  by  the  same  writer,  of  Scipio, 
the  Carthaginian's  more  fortunate  rival : 

"  About  the  same  time,  probably  in  the  same  year,  died 
also  the  man  whom  the  Romans  were  wont  to  call  his  con- 
queror, Publius  Scipio.  On  him  fortune  had  lavished  all 
the  successes  which  she  denied  to  his  antagonist — successes 
which  did  belong  to  him,  and  successes  which  did  not.  He 
had  added  to  the  empire  Spain,  Africa,  and  Asia;  and  Rome, 
which  he  had  found  merely  the  first  community  of  Italy,  was 
at  his  death  mistress  of  the  civilized  world.  He  himself  had 
so  many  titles  of  victory,  that  some  of  them  were  made  over 
to  his  brother  and  his  cousin.  And  yet  he  too  spent  his  last 
years  in  bitter  vexation,  and  died  when  little  more  than  fifty 
years  of  age  in  voluntary  banishment,  leaving  orders  to  his 
relatives  not  to  bury  his  remains  in  the  city  for  which  he  had 
lived  and  in  which  his  ancestors  reposed.  It  is  not  exactly 
known  what  drove  him  from  the  city.  The  charges  of  cor- 
ruption and  embezzlement,  which  were  directed  against  him 
and  still  more  against  his  brother  Lucius,  were  beyond  doubt 
empty  calumnies,  which  do  not  satisfactorily  account  for  such 
irritation  of  feeling;  although  it  was  characteristic  of  the 
man,  that  instead  of  simply  vindicating  himself  by  means  of 
his  account-books,  he  tore  them  in  pieces  in  presence  of  the 
people  and  of  his  accusers,  and  summoned  the  Romans  to 
accompany  him  to  the  temple  of  Jupiter  and  to  celebrate  the 
anniversary  of  his  victory  at  Zama.  The  people  left  the  ac- 
cusers on  the  spot,  and  followed  Scipio  to  the  Capitol ;  but 
this  was  the  last  glorious  day  of  that  illustrious  man.  His 
proud  spirit,  his  belief  that  he  was  different   from,  and  better 


Livy.  63 

than,  other  men,  his  very  decided  family  policy,  which  in  the 
person  of  his  brother  Lucius  especially  brought  forward  a 
clumsy  man  of  straw  as  a  hero,  gave  offense  to  many,  and  not 
without  reason.  While  genuine  pride  protects  the  heart,  arro- 
gance lays  it  open  to  every  blow  and  every  sarcasm,  and  cor- 
rodes even  an  originally  noble-minded  spirit.  It  is  throughout, 
moreover,  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  such  natures 
as  that  of  Scipio — strange  mixtures  of  genuine  gold  and  glit- 
tering tinsel — that  they  need  the  good  fortune  and  the 
brilliance  of  youth  in  order  to  exercise  their  charm,  and, 
when  this  charm  begins  to  fade,  it  is  the  charmer  himself 
that  is  most  painfully  conscious  of  the  change." 

Mommsen's  estimate  of  Scipio  differs,  in  being  more  mod- 
erate, from  the  admiring  one  expressed  by  Milton — "  Scipio 
the  highth  of  Rome." 

That  noblest  of  Roman  matrons,  the  great  Cornelia,  mother 
of  the  Gracchi,  was  daughter  to  this  Scipio.  Her  fame, 
single  almost  like  the  sun  in  heaven,  among  the  historic 
women  of  Rome,  reflects  a  doubled  luster  backward  upon  the 
fame  of  the  father. 

We  hope  many  of  our  readers  will  be  tempted  to  explore 
the  full  text  of  Livy  translated,  to  find  out  for  themselves 
what  store  contained  in  those  pages  is  left  behind,  by  us  un- 
exhausted, of  picturesque  and  romantic  recital.  Assuredly, 
Livy,  in  his  story  of  Rome,  supplied  to  his  countrymen  an 
unsurpassed  text-book  of  lofty  example,  of  nobly  inspiring 
tradition. 


64  College  Latin  Course  in  JinglisJi. 


II. 

TACITUS. 

A  VERY  different  writer  of  history  from  Livy,  is  Tacitus. 
Tacitus,  however,  though  different,  is  not  less  interesting 
than  Livy.  He  has  an  equally  entertaining  story  to  tell,  and 
he  tells  his  story  every  whit  as  admirably.  It  is  not  romance, 
it  is  history,  with  Tacitus.  The  color  is  not  rose  any  longer. 
It  is  stern,  often  livid,  likeness  to  life.  If  Livy  is  Claude 
liOrraine,  Tacitus  is  Salvator  Rosa :  if  Livy  is  Titian,  Taci- 
tus is  Rembrandt.  You  read  Livy,  and  you  are  inspired. 
You  read  Tacitus,  and  you  are  oppressed.  But  the  oppres- 
sion somehow  at  length  leaves  you,  by  reaction,  braced; 
while  the  inspiration  somehow  at  length  leaves  you,  as  if 
through  too  much  elixir,  languid.  For  the  inspiration  is  the 
effect  of  romance,  and  the  oppression  is  the  effect  of  reality. 
Reality  is  generally  much  more  somber  than  romance,  and 
Tacitus  is  far  more  somber  than  Livy. 

When  Livy  wrote,  the  Roman  Empire  was  young.  It  had 
the  halo  of  uncertain  hope  about  it.  Augustus  had  brought 
back  peace  to  a  distracted  commonwealth,  and  Livy  wrote 
in  the  sunrise  of  a  new  era  that  perhaps  would  be  glorious. 
When  Tacitus  wrote,  the  aureole  was  gone,  for  the  empire 
was  now  a  hundred  years  old.  There  had  been  Tiberius, 
Caligula,  Claudius,  Nero.  No  wonder  if  now,  for  the  writing 
of  Roman  history,  grim  realism  took  the  place  of  blithe 
romance. 

Of  Tacitus  himself  we  know  very  little.  We  do  not 
know  where  he  was  born.  We  do  not  know  when  he  was 
born.  He  was  probably  born  about  the  year  50  of  the  Chris- 
tian era.  A  town  in  Umbria  is  named  as  his  birthplace. 
Pliny  was  a  younger  friend,  a  loyal  and  affectionate  admirer, 
of  the  historian.     From  Pliny  we  derive  what  knowledge  we 


Tacitus.  65 

possess  concerning  his  elder  and  more  illustrious  compeer ; 
except,  indeed,  that  Tacitus  himself  makes  us  know  that  he 
held  public  ofifice  in  a  constantly  ascending  scale  under  Ves- 
pasian, under  Titus,  and  under  Domitian.  Later,  Tacitus 
was  consul ;  for  there  was  still  a  titular  consulship,  even  un- 
der the  empire.  He  was  also  senator;  for  there  was  still  a 
titular  senate.  With  the  accession  of  Trajan,  the  political 
activity  of  Tacitus  seems  to  have  terminated.  That  great 
prince  was  too  strong-  for  individual  subjects  under  his  sway 
to  enjoy  much  freedom  of  political  action.  But  he  was  also 
too  strong  to  feel  any  necessity  of  greatly  abridging  his  sub- 
jects' freedom  of  speech.  Romans  might  say  what  pleased 
themselves,  on  the  simple  condition  that  they  would  do  what 
pleased  their  emperor.  Tacitus  accordingly  turned  now  de- 
cisively from  politics  to  literature;  and  well  it  is  for  us  that 
he  did  so.  Near  two  centuries  from  his  time  will  pass,  and 
there  will  then  ascend  the  throne  of  the  world  an  emperor 
who,  bearing  the  same  name,  the  name  of  Tacitus,  will  fondly 
trace  his  lineage  back  to  this  prince  in  literature,  so  to  derive 
for  himself  a  prouder  than  imperial  ancestry.  Caius  Cor- 
nelius Tacitus  was  the  full  name  of  the  historian.  The  Cor- 
nelian family  was  one  of  the  very  highest  in  Rome.  But 
whether  the  possession  by  Tacitus  of  their  gentile  name  im- 
plied his  connection  with  that  family  by  blood  is,  perhaps, 
doubtful. 

Tacitus  had  probably,  before  Trajan's  accession,  already 
produced  his  Dialogue  on  Oratory.  Shortly  after  Trajan's 
accession,  he  published  his  life  of  Agricola,  his  own  father- 
in-law.  His  tract  on  Germany,  we  may  suppose,  soon  fol- 
lowed. The  principal  historical  works  of  Tacitus  are  two; 
the  History,  or  Histories,  distinctively  so  called,  and  the 
Annals.  The  Annals,  though  subsequent  in  composition, 
treat  of  an  earlier  period  than  the  History.  The  History 
.  Tacitus  seems  never  to  have  completed  according  to  his 
original  design  for  that  work.     He  alludes  to  projects  in  his- 


66  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


tory  entertained  by  him,  of  which,  if  he  ever  fulfilled  them, 
we  have  utterly  lost  the  fulfillment.  We  do  not  know,  we 
have  not  even  the  means  of  guessing,  what  and  how  much  we 
have  lost  of  literature  that  flowed  from  the  pen  of  Tacitus. 
He  enjoyed  great  renown  in  his  own  day,  but  sank  soon  after 
his  death  into  unaccountable  neglect.  We  thus  lack  the 
notice  of  him,  and  the  extracts  from  him,  in  later  ancient 
literature,  that  might  otherwise  have  saved  to  us  some  pre- 
cious fragments  from  his  unknown  perished  works.  But 
neglect  of  such  a  writer  as  Tacitus  could  not  continue.  He 
had  an  immortality  in  him  that  no  length  of  dormancy  could 
extinguish.  He  stands  forth  to-day  an  historian  confessedly 
without  superior  in  the  republic  of  letters.  If  he  does  not 
flash  like  Livy,  he  burns  as  steady  and  as  strong  as  Thu- 
cydides.  No  more  weighty,  no  more  serious,  no  more 
penetrating,  no  sounder,  truer,  manlier  mind  than  Tacitus, 
perhaps,  ever  wrote  history. 

We  shall  chiefly  draw  from  the  "Annals,"  to  give  our 
readers  their  taste  of  the  quality  of  Tacitus.  First,  however, 
for  the  double  sake  of  a  certain  striking  parallel  suggested, 
and  of  a  certain  particular  description  exceptionally  inter- 
esting to  all  modern  heirs  of  Christianity,  we  introduce 
two  passages  from  the  "History."  The  first  passage  consists 
of  the  majestic  sentences  in  which,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
work,  the  historian  sets  forth  the  object  proposed  by  him, 
and  passes  in  rapid  review  the  whole  course  of  the  history. 
The  reader  will  find  it  very  interesting  and  suggestive  to 
compare  the  opening  of  Macaulay's  History  of  England. 
Tacitus  : 

I  am  entering  on  the  history  of  a  period  rich  in  disasters,  frightful  in 
its  wars,  torn  by  civil  strife,  and  even  in  peace  full  of  horrors.  Four 
emperors  perished  by  the  sword.  There  were  three  civil  wars  ;  there 
were  more  with  foreign  enemies  ;  there  were  often  wars  that  had  both 
characters  at  once.  There  was  success  in  the  East,  and  disaster  in  tlie 
West.     There  were  disturbances  in  lUyricum  ;  Gaul  wavered  in  its  alle- 


Tacitus.  67 

yiancc  ;  Britain  was  thoroughly  subdued  and  immediately  aliandoned  ;  the 
tribes  of  the  Suevi  and  the  Sarmatte  rose  in  concert  against  us  ;  the 
Dacians  had  the  glory  of  inflicting  as  well  as  suftering  defeat ;  the  armies 
of  Parthia  \vere  all  but  set  in  motion  by  the  cheat  of  a  counterfeit  Nero. 
Now,  too,  Italy  was  prostrated  by  disasters  either  entirely  novel,  or  that 
recurred  only  after  a  long  succession  of  ages  ;  cities  in  Campania's 
richest  plains  were  swallowed  up  and  overwhelmed  ;  Rome  was  wasted 
by  conflagrations,  its  oldest  temples  consumed,  and  the  Capitol  itself  fired 
by  the  hands  of  citizens.  Sacred  rites  were  profaned  ;  there  was  prof- 
ligacy in  the  highest  ranks  ;  the  sea  was  crowded  with  exiles,  and  its 
rocks  polluted  with  bloody  deeds.  In  the  capital  there  were  yet  worse 
horrors.  Nobility,  wealth,  the  refusal  or  the  acceptance  of  office,  were 
grounds  for  accusation,  and  virtue  insured  destruction.  The  rewards  of 
the  informers  were  no  less  odious  than  their  crimes ;  for  while  some 
seized  on  consulships  and  priestly  offices,  as  their  share  of  the  spoil, 
others  on  procuratorships,  and  posts  of  more  confidential  authority,  they 
robbed  and  ruined  in  every  direction  amid  universal  hatred  and  terror. 
Slaves  were  bribed  to  turn  against  their  masters,  and  freedmen  to  betray 
their  patrons  ;  and  those  who  had  not  an  enemy  were  destroyed  by 
friends. 

Yet  the  age  was  not  so  barren  in  noble  qualities,  as  not  also  to  exhibit 
examples  of  virtue.  Mothers  accompanied  the  flight  of  their  sons  ; 
wives  followed  their  husbands  into  exile  ;  there  were  brave  kinsmen 
and  faithful  sons-in-law  ;  there  were  slaves  whose  fidelity  defied  even 
torture;  there  were  illustrious  men  driven  to  the  last  necessity,  and 
enduring  it  with  fortitude  ;  there  were  closing  scenes  that  equaled  the 
famous  deaths  of  antiquity.  Besides  the  manifold  vicissitudes  of  human 
affairs,  there  were  prodigies  in  heaven  and  earth,  the  warning  voices  of 
the  thunder,  and  other  intimations  of  the  future,  auspicious  or  gloomy, 
doubtful  or  not  to  be  mistaken.  Never,  surely,  did  more  terrible  calami- 
ties of  the  Roman  people,  or  evidence  more  conclusive,  prove  that  the 
gods  take  no  thought  for  our  happiness,  but  only  for  our  punishment. 

I  think  it  proper,  however,  before  I  commence  my  purposed  work,  to 
pass  under  review  the  condition  of  the  capital,  the  temper  of  the  armies, 
the  attitude  of  the  provinces,  and  the  elements  of  weakness  and  strength 
which  existed  throughout  the  whole  empire,  that  so  we  may  become 
acquainted,  not  only  with  the  vicissitudes  and  the  issues  of  events,  which 
are  often  matters  of  chance,  but  also  with  their  relations  and  their  causes. 

The  clause,  "  with  their  relations  and  their  causes,"  reveals 
a  feature  of  the  method  of  Tacitus  in  which  he  differs  from 


68  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Livy.  Livy  is  a  romantic,  whereas  Tacitus  is  a  philosophical, 
historian.  History,  in  the  handling  of  Tacitus,  becomes 
philosophy  teaching  by  example.  History,  in  the  handling  of 
Livy,  was  largely  the  imagination  delighting  by  pictures, 
whether  pictures  of  fact  or  of  fancy.  The  pathetic  gravity, 
the  sententious  density,  of  the  foregoing  passage  from 
Tacitus,  will  be  better  appreciated  by  the  reader  who  will 
turn  back  to  it,  and  peruse  it  again,  after  having  first  gone 
through  the  details  which  it  compresses  in  that  marvelous 
brevity  of  statement.  The  preface  thus  prefixed  to  the 
History  will  be  found  to  fit  the  Annals  nearly  as  well. 

We  skip  at  one  bound  over  the  entire  space  of  the  History, 
to  find  our  next  and  last  extract  from  this  work,  in  the  book 
with  which  the  whole  narrative  abruptly  closes — closes  with- 
out being  brought  to  any  completion. 

Titus  has  encamped  before  Jerusalem.  His  mention  of 
that  city  makes  Tacitus  pause  for  a  lengthened,  and  with 
him  rather  unusual,  digression.  Evidently  Jerusalem  had 
made  noise  enough  in  the  world  to  be  a  subject  of  curiosity 
at  Rome.     Tacitus  says  : 

As  I  am  about  to  relate  the  last  clays  of  a  famous  city,  it  seems  appro- 
priate to  throw  some  light  on  its  origin. 

Our  readers  will  not  now  expect  from  this  Roman  authority 
a  wholly  accurate  account  of  Jewish  matters.  A  bright 
Sunday-school  scholar  in  America  knows  more  real  truth 
about  Jewish  history,  than  Tacitus  ever  troubled  himself  to 
learn.  The  slips  and  stumbles  that  Tacitus  makes  in  what 
he  says  about  the  Jews,  may  appropriately  teach  us  to  be 
wisely  doubtful  in  every  case  in  which  a  Roman  historian 
undertakes  to  give  a  full  account  of  remote  and  foreign 
nations.  Severe  historical  accuracy  is  rare  everywhere  and 
always.  But  that  a  Roman  of  the  time  of  Tacitus  should  be 
severely  accurate  in  statement  concerning  the  Jews,  it  would 
be  especially  unreasonalile  to  expect.     Be  prepared,   there- 


Tacitus.  69 

fore,  to  receive  at  the  outset  a  smart  shock  to  your  pre-estab- 
lished ideas  on  Jewish  history,  as  Tacitus  proceeds  : 

Some  say  that  the  Jews  were  fugitives  from  the  island  of  Crete,  who 
settled  on  the  nearest  coast  of  Africa  about  the  time  when  Saturn  was 
driven  from  his  throne  by  the  power  of  Jupiter.  Evidence  of  this  is 
sought  in  the  name.  There  is  a  famous  mountain  in  Crete  called  Ida  ; 
the  neighboring  tribe,  the  I-dce'i,  came  to  be  called  Ju-d;)e'i  by  a  barbarous 
lengthening  of  the  national  name.  Others  assert  that  in  the  reign  of  Isis, 
the  overflowing  population  of  Egypt,  led  by  Hi-e-ro-sol'y-mus  and  Judas, 
discharged  itself  into  the  neighboring  countries.  Many,  again,  say  that 
they  were  a  race  of  Ethiopian  origin,  who  in  the  time  of  king  Ce'pheus 
were  driven  by  fear  and  hatred  of  their  neighbors  to  seek  a  new  dwell- 
ing-place. Others  describe  them  as  an  Assyrian  horde  who,  not  having 
sufficient  territory,  took  possession  of  part  of  Egypt,  and  founded  cities 
of  their  own  in  what  is  called  the  Hebrew  country,  lying  on  the  borders 
of  Syria.  Others,  ag.iin,  assign  a  very  distinguished  origin  to  the  Jews, 
alleging  that  they  were  the  Sol'y-mi,  a  nation  celebrated  in  the  poems  of 
Homer,  who  called  the  city  which  they  founded  Hierosolyma,  after  their 
own  name. 

What  say  our  readers  to  the  "light"  which  Tacitus  deems 
it  "appropriate  to  throw  "  on  the  "  origin  "  of  the  Jews  }  It 
will  be  a  stimulating  diversion  of  mind  to  study  the  forms 
into  which  the  story  of  the  exodus  gets  perverted  by  the  phil- 
osophical genius  of  the  Roman  historian,  in  what  follows  : 

Most  writers,  however,  agree  in  stating  that  once  a  disease,  which 
horribly  disfigured  the  body,  broke  out  over  Egypt  ;  that  king  Boc-cho'- 
ris,  seeking  a  remedy,  consulted  the  oracle  of  Ilammon,  and  was  bidden 
to  cleanse  his  realm,  and  to  convey  into  some  foreign  land  this  race 
detested  by  the  gods.  The  people,  who  had  been  collected  after  dili- 
gent search,  finding  themselves  left  in  a  desert,  sat  for  the  most 
part  in  a  stupor  of  grief,  till  one  of  the  exiles,  Moyses  by  name, 
warned  them  not  to  look  for  any  relief  from  God  or  man,  forsaken  as 
they  were  of  both,  but  to  trust  to  themselves,  taking  for  their  heaven- 
sent leader  that  man  who  should  first  help  them  to  be  quit  of  their 
present  misery.  They  agreed,  and  in  utter  ignorance  began  to  advance 
at  random.  Nothing,  however,  distressed  them  so  much  as  the  scarcity 
of  water,  and  they  had  sunk  ready  to  perish  in  all  directions  over  the 
plain,  when  a  herd  of  wild  asses  were  seen  to  retire  from  their  pasture 


yo  College  Latin  Course  In  English. 


to  a  rock  shaded  by  trees.  Moyses  followed  them,  and,  guided  by  the 
appearance  of  a  grassy  spot,  discovered  an  abundant  spring  of  water. 
This  furnished  relief.  After  a  continuous  journey  for  six  days,  on  the 
seventh  they  possessed  themelves  of  a  country,  from  which  they  expelled 
the  inhabitants,  and  in  which  they  founded  a  city  and  a  temple. 

Moyses,  wishing  to  secure  for  the  future  his  authority  over  the  nation, 
gave  them  a  novel  form  of  worship,  opposed  to  all  that  is  practiced  by 
other  men.  Things  sacred  with  us,  with  them  have  no  sanctity,  while 
they  allow  what  with  us  is  forbidden.  In  their  holy  place  they  have  con- 
secrated an  image  of  the  animal  by  whose  guidance  they  found  deliver- 
ance from  their  long  and  thirsty  wanderings.  They  slay  the  ram,  seem- 
ingly in  derision  of  Hammon,  and  they  sacrifice  the  ox,  because  the 
Egyptians  worship  it  as  Apis.  They  abstain  from  swine's  flesh,  in  con- 
sideration of  what  they  suffered  when  they  were  infected  by  the  leprosy  to 
which  this  animal  is  liable.  By  their  frequent  fasts  they  still  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  long  hunger  of  former  days,  and  the  Jewish  bread,  made 
without  leaven,  is  retained  as  a  memorial  of  their  hurried  seizure  of  corn. 
We  are  told  that  the  rest  of  the  seventh  day  was  adopted,  because  this  day 
brought  with  it  a  termination  of  their  toils;  after  a  while  the  charm  of 
indolence  beguiled  them  into  giving  up  the  seventh  year  also  to  inaction. 
But  others  say  that  it  is  an  observance  in  honor  of  Saturn,  either  from 
the  primitive  elements  of  their  faith  having  been  transmitted  from  the 
Idffii,  who  are  said  to  have  shared  the  flight  of  that  god,  and  to  have 
founded  the  race,  or  from  the  circumstance  that  of  the  seven  stars  which 
lie  the  destinies  of  men,  Saturn  moves  in  the  highest  orbit  and  with 
the  mightiest  power,  and  that  many  of  the  heavenly  bodies  complete 
their  revolutions  and  courses  in  multiples  of  seven. 

This  worship,  however  introduced,  is  upheld  by  its  antiquity  ;  all  their 
other  customs,  which  are  at  once  perverse  and  disgusting,  owe  their 
strength  to  their  very  badness.  The  most  degraded  out  of  other  races, 
scorning  their  national  beliefs,  brought  to  them  their  contributions  and 
presents.  This  augmented  the  wealth  of  the  Jews,  as  also  did  the  fact, 
that  among  themselves  they  are  inflexibly  honest  and  ever  ready  to  show 
compassion,  though  they  regard  the  rest  of  mankind  with  all  the  hatred 
of  enemies.  They  sit  apart  at  meals,  they  sleep  apart,  and  though,  as  a 
nation,  they  are  singularly  prone  to  lust,  they  abstain  from  intercourse 
with  foreign  women  ;  among  themselves  nothing  is  unlawful.  Circum- 
cision v/as  adopted  by  them  as  a  mark  of  difference  from  other  men. 
Those  who  come  over  to  their  religion  adopt  the  practice,  and  have  this 
lesson  first  instilled  into  them,  to  despise  all  gods,  to  disown  their  coun- 
try, and  set  at  naught  parents,  children,  and  brethren.     Still  they  pro- 


Tacitus.  7 1 

vide  for  the  increase  of  their  numbers.     It  is  a  crime  among  them  to  kill 
any  newly-born  infant. 

The  last  foregoing  sentence  tells  volumes,  in  its  eleven 
short  words.  This  Roman  notes  it  as  a  Jewish  peculiarity, 
that  the  murder  of  infants  was  unlawful.  What  a  lurid 
light  on  Gentile  morality  is  thus,  without  consciousness  on 
the  part  of  the  historian,  thrown  !     Let  Tacitus  go  on  : 

They  hold  that  the  souls  of  all  who  perish  in  battle  or  by  the  hands  of 
the  executioner  are  immortal.  Hence  a  passion  for  propagating  their  race 
and  a  contempt  for  death.  They  are  wont  to  bury  rather  than  to  burn 
their  dead,  following  in  this  the  Egyptian  custom  ;  they  bestow  the  same 
care  on  the  dead,  and  they  hold  the  same  belief  about  the  lower  world. 
Quite  dift'erent  is  their  faith  about  things  divine.  The  Egyptians  worship 
many  animals  and  images  of  monstrous  form  ;  the  Jews  have  purely  men- 
tal-conceptions of  Deity,  as  one  in  essence.  They  call  those  profane  who 
make  representations  of  God  in  human  shape  out  of  perishable  materials. 
They  believe  that  Being  to  be  supreme  and  eternal,  neither  capable  of 
representation,  nor  of  decay.  They,  therefore,  do  not  allow  any  images 
to  stand  in  their  cities,  much  less  in  their  temples.  This  flattery  is  not 
paid  to  their  kings,  nor  this  honor  to  our  emperors.  From  the  fact, 
however,  that  their  priests  used  to  chant  to  the  music  of  flutes  and  cym- 
bals, and  to  wear  garlands  of  ivy,  and  that  a  golden  vine  was  found  in 
the  temple,  some  have  thought  that  they  worshiped  Father  Liber,  the 
conqueror  of  the  East,  though  their  institutions  do  not  by  any  means 
harmonize  with  the  theory  ;  for  Liber  established  a  festive  and  cheerful 
worship,  while  the  Jewish  religion  is  tasteless  and  mean. 

A  little  Judgean  geography  follows,  in  which  the  river 
Jordan  and  the  Dead  Sea  occupy  great  space.  This,  though 
interesting,  we,  for  economy's  sake,  omit.  Tacitus  comes  to 
Jerusalem  : 

A  great  part  of  Judtea  consists  of  scattered  villages.  They  have  also 
towns.  Jerusalem  is  the  capital.  There  stood  a  temple  of  immense 
wealth.  First  came  the  city  with  its  fortifications,  then  the  royal 
palace,  then,  within  the  innermost  defenses,  the  temple  itself.  Only  the 
Jew  might  approach  the  gates  ;  all  but  priests  were  forbidden  to  pass 
the  threshold.  While  the  East  was  under  the  sway  of  the  Assyrians, 
the  Medes,  and  the  Persians,  Jews  were  the  most  contemptible  of  the 


72  College  Latin  Course  in  English.   . 

subject  tribes.  When  the  Macedonians  became  supreme,  King  Aiiii- 
ochus  strove  to  destroy  the  national  superstition,  and  to  introduce  Greek 
civilization,  but  was  prevented  by  his  war  with  the  Parthians  from  at  all 
improving  this  vilest  of  nations.  .  .  . 

Cneius  Pompeius  was  tlie  first  of  our  countrymen  to  subdue  the  Jews. 
Availing  himself  of  the  right  of  conquest,  he  entered  the  temple.  Thus 
it  became  commonly  known  that  the  place  stood  empty  with  no  simili- 
tude of  gods  within,  and  that  the  shrine  had  nothing  to  reveal.  .  .  .  Un- 
der Tiberius  all  was  quiet.  But  when  the  Jews  were  ordered  by  Calig- 
ula to  set  up  his  statue  in  the  temple,  they  preferred  the  alternative  of 
war.  The  death  of  the  emperor  put  an  end  to  the  disturbance.  The 
kings  were  either  dead,  or  reduced  to  insignificance,  \\hen  Claudius 
intrusted  the  province  of  Judrea  to  the  Roman  knights  or  to  his  own 
freedmen,  one  of  whom,  Antonius  Felix,  indulging  in  every  kind  of 
barbarity  and  lust,  exercised  the  power  of  a  king  in  the  spirit  of  a  slave. 
Pie  had  married  Drusilla,  the  granddaughter  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra, 
and  so  was  the  grandson-in-law,  as  Claudius  was  the  grandson,  of 
Antony. 

The  mordant  expression,  in  which  the  character  of  the 
Felix  of  scriptural  narrative  is  fixed  forever  for  the  contem- 
plation of  posterity,  will  not  fail  to  arrest  the  attention  of  the 
reader.  What  force  of  fierce  invective  in  that  Roman  turn, 
"exercised  the  power  of  a  king  in  the  spirit  of  a  slave"! 
Tacitus  once  more  : 

....  Peace  [after  the  civil  wars]  having  been  established  in  Italy, 
foreign  affairs  were  once  more  remembered.  Our  indignation  was 
heightened  by  the  circumstance  that  the  Jews  alone  had  not  submitted. 
At  the  same  time  it  was  held  to  be  more  expedient,  in  reference  to  the 
possible  results  and  contingencies  of  the  new  reign,  that  Titus  should 
remain  with  the  army.    .    .    . 

It  seemed  beneath  them  to  await  the  result  of  famine.  The  army  de- 
manded the  more  perilous  alternative,  some  prompted  by  courage,  many 
by  sheer  ferocity  and  greed  of  gain.  Tilus  himself  had  Rome,  with  all 
its  wealth  and  pleasures,  before  his  eyes.  Jerusalem  must  fall  at  once, 
or  it  would  delay  his  enjoyment  of  them. 

But  the  commanding  situalion  of  the  city  had  been  strengtliened  by 
enormous  works  which  would  have  been  a  thorough  defense  even  for 
level  ground.  Two  hills  of  great  height  were  fenced  in  by  walls  which 
had  been  skillfully  obliqued  or  bent  inwards  in  such  a  manner  that  the 


Tacitus. 


73 


flank  of  an  assailant  was  exposed  to  missiles.  The  rock  terminated  in  a 
precipice;  the  towers  were  raised  to  a  height  of  sixty  feet,  where  tlje  hill 
lent  its  aid  to  the  fortifications,  where  the  ground  fell,  to  a  height  of  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty.  They  had  a  marvellous  appearance, and  to  a  distant  spec- 
tator seemed  to  be  of  uniform  elevation.  Within  were  other  walls  surround- 
ing the  palace, 
and,  rising  to  a  ^^ 
conspicuous  ^ 
height,  the  tow- 
er Antonia,  so 
called  by  Hei-- 
od,  in  honor  of 
Marcus  Antonius 

The  temple  resembled  a  citadel, and 
had  its  own  walls,  which  were  more 
laboriously  constructed  than  the  oth- 
ers. Even  the  colonnades  with  which 
it  was  surrounded  formed  an  admi- 
rable outwork.  It  contained  an  inex- 
haustible spring;  there  were  subterra- 
nean excavations  in  the  hill,  and  tanks 
and  cisterns  for  holding  rain  water. 
The  founders  of  the  State  had  foreseen 
that  frequent  wars  would  result  from 
the  singularity  of  its  customs,  and  so 
had  made  every  provision  against  the 
most  protracted  siege.  After  the  capt- 
ure of  their  city  by  Pompey,  experi- 
ence and  apprehension  taught  them 
much.  Availing  themselves  of  the  sor- 
did policy  of  the  Claudian  era  to  pur- 
chase the  right  of  fortification,  they 
raised  in  time  of  peace  such  walls  as 
were  suited  for  war.  Their  num- 
bers were  increased  by  a  vast  rab- 
ble collected  from  the  overthrow  of 
the  other  cities.  All  the  most  obstinate  rebels  had  escaped  into  the  place, 
and  perpetual  seditions  were  the  consequence.  There  were  three  generals, 
and  as  many  armies.  Simon  held  the  outer  and  larger  circuit  of  walls. 
John,  also  called  Bar-gi-o'ras,  occupied  the  middle  city.  E-le-a'zar  had 
fortified  the  temple.     John  and  Simon  were  strong  in  numbers  and  equip- 


!lii}iHi;il!'ii|iiill{'ii!!l1'l|!!!'!li;''''|)r';!S 


TITUS. 


74  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

ment,  Eleazar  in  position.  Tliere  were  continual  skirmishes,  surprises, 
and  incendiary  fires,  and  a  vast  quantity  of  corn  was  burned.  Before 
long  John  sent  some  emissaries,  who,  under  pretense  of  sacrificing, slaugh- 
tered Eleazar  and  his  partisans,  and  gained  possession  of  tlie  temple. 
The  city  was  thus  divided  between  two  factions,  till,  as  the  Romans  ap- 
proached, war  with  the  foreigner  brought  about  a  reconciliation. 

Prodigies  had  occurred,  which  this  nation,  prone  to  superstition,  but 
hating  all  religious  rites,  did  not  deem  it  lawful  to  expiate  by  offering 
and  sacrifice.  There  had  been  seen  hosts  joining  battle  in  the  skies,  the 
fiery  gleam  of  arms,  the  temple  illuminated  by  a  sudden  radiance  from 
the  clouds.  The  doors  of  the  inner  shrine  were  suddenly  thrown  open, 
and  a  voice  of  more  than  mortal  tone  was  heard  to  cry  tliat  the  gods 
were  departing.  At  the  same  instant  there  was  a  mighty  stir  as  of  de- 
parture. Some  few  put  a  fearful  meaning  on  these  events,  but  in  most 
there  was  a  firm  persuasion,  that  in  the  ancient  records  of  their  priests 
was  contained  a  prediction  of  how  at  this  very  time  the  East  was  to 
grow  powerful,  and  rulers,  coming  from  Juda:a,  were  to  acquire  uni- 
versal empire.  These  mysterious  prophecies  had  pointed  to  Vespasian 
and  Titus,  but  the  common  people,  with  the  usual  blindness  of  ambition, 
had  interpreted  these  mighty  destinies  of  themselves,  and  could  not  be 
brought  even  by  disasters  to  believe  the  truth.  I  have  heard  that  the 
total  number  of  the  besieged,  of  every  age  and  both  sexes,  amounted  to 
six  hundred  thousand.  All  who  were  able  bore  arms,  and  a  number,  more 
than  proportionate  to  the  population,  had  the  courage  to  do  so.  Men 
and  women  showed  equal  resolution,  and  life  seemed  more  terrible  than 
death,  if  they  were  to  be  forced  to  leave  their  country.  Such  was  this 
city  and  nation  ;  and  Titus  Csesar,  seeing  that  the  position  forbade  an 
assault  or  any  of  the  more  rapid  operations  of  war,  determined  to 
proceed  by  earth-works  and  covered  approaches.  The  legions  had 
their  respective  duties  assigned  to  them,  and  there  was  a  cessation  from 
figliting,  till  all  the  inventions,  used  in  ancient  warfare,  or  devised  by 
modern  ingenuity  for  the  reduction  of  cities,  were  constructed. 

Here  Tacitus,  without  notice,  turns  away  to  bring  forward 
in  recital  certain  parallel  operations  proceeding  in  a  differ- 
ent part  of  the  empire.  And  Tacitus  makes,  in  what  we  pos- 
sess of  his  history,  no  return  to  what  would  have  interested 
us  so  much,  namely,  tlie  siege  and  capture  of  Jerusalem.  Our 
readers  will  discover — in  the  perfectly  composed  air  with  which 
Tacitus  explains  that  the  predictions  of  Scripture,  mistakenly, 


Tacitus.  75 

as  he  assumes,  supposed  by  the  Jews  to  point  to  the  Mes- 
siah, pointed  in  fact  to  Vespasian  and  Titus — a  proof,  not 
needed,  of  the  supreme  egotism  natural  to  the  Roman  race. 
What  different  disposition  could  reasonably  be  looked  for 
in  the  lords  of  the  world  ?  But  how  solemnly  sublime  a 
light  seems  to  be  thrown  on  the  end  of  the  Old  Testament 
Jewish  age,  in  those  sentences  of  Tacitus — read  them  again — 
"  There  had  been  seen  hosts  joining  battle  in  the  skies, 
the  fiery  gleam  of  arms,  the  temple  illuminated  by  a  sudden 
radiance  from  the  clouds.  The  doors  of  the  inner  shrine 
were  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  a  voice  of  more  than  mortal 
tone  was  heard  to  cry  that  the  gods  were  departing.  At  the 
same  instant  there  was  a  mighty  stir  as  of  departure." 

So  much  for  the  "  History,"  pfoperly  so  called,  of  Tacitus. 
It  begins  with  the  events  immediately  preceding  the  acces- 
sion of  Galba,  69  A.  D.  Of  the  entire  work,  which  should  com- 
prise the  events  of  nearly  thirty  years,  we  have  not  quite 
enough  to  cover  the  events  of  two  years.  We  have  lost  then, 
probably,  at  least  ten  times  as  much  as  we  have,  of  the  His- 
tory of  Tacitus — a  sad  lacuna  this,  to  yawn  hopelessly  in 
classic  literature. 

We  said  that  Tacitus  has  a  story  to  tell  not  less  entertain- 
ing than  the  story  told  by  Livy.  Tacitus  himself,  however, 
felt  that  he  wrote  at  disadvantage,  as  contrasted  with  preced- 
ing historians,  because  his  subject  was  less  heroic,  less  glo- 
rious. He  was  at  heart  an  aristocrat  of  the  elder  times. 
The  degeneracy  of  the  senate  of  his  own  days,  he  bewailed, 
as  one  kindred  in  spirit  with  that  proud  oligarchy  of  which, 
a  hundred  years  before,  Livy  had  sung  in  lyric  prose  his 
"passionate  ballad,  gallant  and  gay."  Still  Tacitus  was,  un- 
der the  circumstances  that  he  found  existing,  a  good  enough 
imperialist.  Doubtless  he  thought  the  new  order  that  had 
established  itself,  better  than  the  old  order  which,  because  it 
was  no  longer  worthy,  had  lapsed.     You  hear,  however,  the 


76 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


undertone  of  pathos  for  the  long-gone  and  irrecoverable  past, 
mingled  with  superb  disdain  for  the  ignoble  present,  running 
through  the  whole  course  of  the  history  of  Tacitus.  Indig- 
nant pessimism  is  the  key-note  everywhere  to  his  writing. 

The  "Annals,"  a  different  work,  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  "  History,"  embraced  the  interval  between  the  years  14 
and  d^  of  the  Christian  era.  The  concluding  part,  that  is, 
the  part  covering  the  last  three  years  of  the  reign  of  Nero, 
is  lost.  Parts  also  in  the  midst  of  the  work  have  perished. 
Tlie  whole  narrative  is  depressing.  It  is  a  melancholy  mo- 
notony of  misery  and  crime.  But  Tacitus  writes  with  such 
art  that  you  are  fascinated  to  read  it  from  beginning  to  end. 
He  holds  you  with  his  glittering  eye. 

The  story  of  Nero  is,  perhaps,  the  part  most  familiar  of  all 
to  the  modern  reader.  This  might 
seem  a  reason  for  choosing  some 
other  part,  some  part  more  novel,  to 
be  presented  here.  But  the  evil  tale 
of  Nero  is  the  most  familiar,  because 
it  is  the  most  interesting.  We  should 
commit  a  mistake,  to  be  deterred 
from  it  by  that  very  fact  about  it 
which  proves  it  the  most  attractive. 
Let  us,  then,  undoubtingly,  make 
choice  of  Nero  for  the  hero  of  what 
we  draw  here  from  the  Annals  of 
Tacitus.  There  will  be  found,  by 
intelligent  readers,  a  considerable  compensation  for  the  sense 
of  familiarity  experienced,  in  the  satisfaction  they  will  derive 
from  the  consciousness  of  having  now  to  do  with  an  original 
source  of  information  on  the  subject  treated. 

The  story  of  Nero,  as  told  by  Tacitus,  is  a  long  story.  Let 
us  take  a  plunge  at  once  into  the  midst  of  things.  There  are 
three  associate  personages  of  the  plot,  to  share,  almost  equally 
with   Nero,  the    interest    of    the    reader.     These    three    are 


NERO   AS   APOLLO. 


Tacitus. 


77 


Burrus,  Seneca,  and,  above  all,  A-L^rip-pi'na,  the  emperor's 
niolhcr.  Of  A-fra'ni-us  Burrus  and  An-na;'us  Seneca — this  is 
the  famous  philosopher—  Tacitus  says  : 

These  two  men  guided  tlie  emperor's  youth  with  a  unity  of  purpose 
seldom  found  where  authority  is  shared,  and  though  their  accomplish- 
ments were  wholly  different,  they  had  equal  influence.  Burrus,  with  his 
soldier's  discipline  and  severe  manners,  Seneca,  with  lessons  of  eloquence 
and  a  dignified  courtesy,  strove  alike  to  confine  the  frailty  of  the  prince's 
youth,  should  he  loathe  virtue,  within  allowable  indulgences.  They  had 
both  alike  to  struggle  against  the  domineering  spirit  of  Agrippina. 

One  of  the  earliest  among  the  public  acts  of  the  youthful 
emperor  Nero,  was  to  pronounce  a  funeral  oration  on  his  pred- 
ecessor, Claudius.  Tacitus's  account  of  this,  with  character- 
istic comment  of  his  own  interspersed,  lets  out  some  secrets 
of  Nero's  disposition  and  of  the  current  temper  of  the  time — 
not  less,  perhaps,  also,  of  the  historian's  own  individual  humor  : 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  the  prince  pronounced  Claudius's  panegyric, 
and  while  he  dwelt  on  the  antiquity  of  his  family  and  on  the  consul- 
ships and  triumphs  of  his  ancestors,  there  was  enthuf.iasm  both  in  him- 
self antl  his  audience.  The  praise-of  his  graceful  accomplishments, 
and  the  remark  that  during  his  reign  no  disaster  had  befallen  Rome 
from  the  foreigner,  were  heard  with  favor.  When  the  speaker  passed 
on  to  his  foresight  and  wisdom,  no  one  could  refrain  from  laughter, 
though  the  speech,  which  was  composed  by  Seneca,  exhibited  much  ele- 
gance, as  indeed  that  famous  man  had  an  attractive  genius  which 
suited  the  popular  ear  of  the  time.  Elderly  men,  who  amuse  their 
leisure  with  comparing  the  past  and  the  present,  observed  that  Nero  was 
the  first  emperor  who  needed  another  man's  eloquence.  The  dictator 
Caesar  rivaled  the  greatest  orators,  and  Augustus  had  an  easy  and  flu- 
ent way  of  speaking,  such  as  became  a  sovereign.  Tiberius,  too,  thorouglily 
understood  the  art  of  balancing  words,  and  was  sometimes  forcible  in  the 
expression  of  his  thoughts,  or  else  intentionally  obscure.  Even  Caius 
Caesar's  disordered  intellect  did  not  wholly  mar  his  faculty  of  speech. 
Nor  did  Claudius,  when  he  spoke  with  preparation,  lack  elegance. 
Nero  from  early  boyhood  turned  his  lively  genius  in  other  directions  ; 
he  carved,  painted,  sang,  or  practiced  the  management  of  horses,  occa- 
sionally composing  verses  which  showed  that  he  had  the  rudiments  of 
learnin";. 


78  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Nero  began  apparently  well.  He  promised  to  restore  to 
the  senate  something  of  its  ancient  prerogative,  and  Tacitus 
says  he  was  true  to  his  word.  But  the  evil  presiding  spirit 
of  his  mother  resisted  the  young  emperor.  It  is  almost  in- 
credible, but,  according  to  Tacitus,  the  senators  used  to  be 
summoned  to  the  imperial  palace  in  order  that  she,  Agrippina, 
"  might  stand  close  to  a  hidden  door  behind  them  screened 
by  a  curtain  which  was  enough  to  shut  her  out  of  sight  but 
not  out  of  hearing."  Nero  was  scarcely  more  than  seventeen 
years  of  age.  It  seems  a  cruelty  of  fortune  that,  at  such  an 
age,  still  under  the  tuition  of  such  a  mother,  this  pampered 
boy  should  have  been  forced  into  the  most  dangerous  and 
the  most  conspicuous  position  in  the  world.  The  passions 
of  a  young  man  were  of  course  not  wanting  to  a  young  em- 
peror. He  fell  in  love  with  a  freedwoman  and  got  two 
fashionable  young  fellows  to  act  as  his  panders.  What 
Tacitus  tells  of  this,  and  of  Nero's  relation  to  his  mother,  is 
fraught  with  sad  instruction  : 

Witliout  the  mother's  knowledge,  then  in  spite  of  her  opposition,  they 
[the  two  young  fellows  just  referred  to]  had  crept  into  his  favor  by  de- 
baucheries and  equivocal  secrets,  and  even  the  prince's  older  friends  did 
not  thwart  him,  for  here  was  a  girl  who  without  harm  to  any  one  grati- 
fied his  desires,  when  he  loathed  his  wife  Octavia,  high  born  as  she  was, 
and  of  approved  virtue,  either  from  some  fatality,  or  because  vice  is 
overpoweringly  attractive.  .  .  . 

Agrippina,  however,  raved  with  a  woman's  fury  about  having  a  freed- 
woman for  a  rival,  a  slave  girl  for  a  daughter-in-law,  with  like  expres- 
sions. Nor  would  she  wait  till  her  son  repented  or  wearied  of  his  pas- 
-sion.  The  fouler  her  reproaches,  tlie  more  powerfully  did  they  inflame 
him,  till,  completely  mastered  by  the  strength  of  his  desire,  he  threw  off 
all  respect  for  his  mother,  and  put  himself  under  the  guidance  of  Seneca, 
one  of  whose  friends,  Annreus  Serenus,  had  veiled  the  young  prince's 
intrigue  in  its  beginning  by  pretending  to  be  in  love  with  the  same 
woman,  and  had  lent  his  name  as  the  ostensible  giver  of  the  presents 
secretly  sent  by  the  emperor  to  the  girl.  Then  Agrippina,  changing  her 
tactics,  plied  the  lad  with  various  blandishments,  and  even  offered  the 
seclusion    of  her   chamber    for  the   concealment   of  indulgences   wliich 


Tacitus.  79 

youth  and  the  highest  rank  might  claim.  She  went  further ;  she 
pleaded  guilty  to  an  ill-timed  strictness,  and  handed  over  to  him  the 
abundance  of  her  wealth,  which  nearly  approached  the  imperial  treas- 
ures, and  from  liaving  been  of  late  extreme  in  her  restraint  of  her  son, 
became  now,  on  the  other  hand,  lax  to  excess.  The  change  did  not 
escape  Nero ;  his  most  intimate  friends  dreaded  it,  and  begged  him  to 
bewarre  of  the  arts  of  a  woman  who  was  always  daring  and  was  now 
false. 

But  mother  and  son  were  equally,  for  both  of  them  were 
supremely,  selfish,  and  they  could  not  be  solidly  reconciled 
with  each  other.  The  breach  between  them  soon  became 
open  and  wide.  The  mother  bethought  herself  of  a  re- 
source against  her  son.  There  was  Claudius's  son,  Bri-tan'ni- 
cus,  younger  step-brother  to  Nero.  Britannicus  had  the 
blood  of  a  Caesar  in  his  veins.  Nero  was  Agrippina's  son 
by  a  former  husband,  not  by  Claudius.  He  was,  therefore,  not 
natural  heir  to  the  empire.     Tacitus  relates: 

Agrippina  rushed  into  frightful  menaces,  sparing  not  the  prince's 
ears  her  solemn  protest  "  that  Britannicus  was  now  of  full  age,  he  who 
was  the  true  and  worthy  heir  of  his  father's  sovereignty,  which  a  son,  by 
mere  admission  and  adoption,  was  abusing  in  outrages  on  his  mother. 
She  shrank  not  from  an  utter  exposure  of  the  wickedness  of  that  ill- 
starred  house,  of  her  own  marriage,  to  begin  with,  and  of  her  poisoner's 
craft.  All  that  the  gods  and  she  herself  had  taken  care  of  was  that  her 
stepson  was  yet  alive  ;  with  him  she  would  go  to  the  camp,  where  on 
one  side  should  be  heard  the  daughter  of  Germanicus  ;  on  the  other, 
the  crippled  Burrus  and  the  exile  Seneca,  claiming,  forsooth,  with 
disfigured  hand,  and  a  pedant's  tongue,  the  government  of  the  world." 
As  she  spoke,  she  raised  her  hand  in  menace  and  heaped  insults  on 
him,  as  she  appealed  to  the  deified  Claudius,  to  the  infernal  shades  of 
the  Silani,  and  to  those  many  fruitless  crimes. 

The  "  fruitless  crimes  "  were  crimes  of  Agrippina's  own 
committing — fruitless,  since  the  obstinacy  of  her  own  boy 
balked  her  of  her  purpose  in  committing  them.  She  had 
meant  to  be  empress  of  the  world.  But  Nero  unexpectedly 
had  developed  a  liking  for  the  game,  as  well  as  the  name,  of 
emperor.     He  now,  stung  by  the  taunts  and  threats  of  his 


8o  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

mother,    entered   headlong   on    his   unparalleled   career   of 
crime.     Tacitus : 

Nero  was  confounded  at  this,  and  as  the  day  was  near  on  whicli  Bri- 
tannicus  would  complete  his  fourteenth  year,  he  reflected,  now  on  the 
domineering  temper  of  his  mother,  and  now  again  on  the  character  of 
the  young  prince,  which  a  trifling  circumstance  had  lately  tested,  suffi- 
cient however  to  gain  for  him  wide  popularity.  During  the  feast  of 
Saturn,  amid  other  pastimes  of  his  playmates,  at  a  game  of  lot-drawing 
for  king,  the  lot  fell  to  Nero,  upon  which  he  gave  all  his  other  compan- 
ions different  orders,  and  such  as  would  not  put  them  to  the  blush  ;  but 
when  he  told  Britannicus  to  step  forward  and  begin  a  song,  hoping  for 
a  laugh  at  the  expense  of  a  boy  who  knew  nothing  of  sober,  much 
less  of  riotous,  society,  the  lad  with  perfect  coolness  commenced  some 
verses  which  hinted  at  his  expulsion  from  his  father's  house  and  from 
supreme  power.  This  procured  him  pity,  which  was  the  more  conspic- 
uous, as  night  with  its  merriment  had  stripped  off  all  disguise.  Nero 
saw  the  reproach  and  redoubled  his  hate.  Pressed  by  Agrippina's 
menaces,  having  no  charge  against  his  brother  and  not  daring  openly  to 
order  his  murder,  he  meditated  a  secret  device  and  directed  poison  to  be 
prepared  through  the  agency  of  Julius  Pollio,  tribune  of  one  of  the 
praetorian  cohorts,  who  had  in  his  custody  a  woman  under  sentence  for 
poisoning,  Locusta  by  name,  with  a  vast  reputation  for  crime.  That 
every  one  about  the  person  of  Britannicus  should  care  nothing  for  right 
or  honor,  had  long  ago  been  provided  for.  He  actually  received  his  first 
dose  of  poison  from  his  tutors  and  passed  it  off  his  bowels,  as  it  was 
either  rather  weak  or  so  qualified  as  not  at  once  to  prove  deadly.  But 
Nero,  impatient  at  such  slow  progress  in  crime,  threatened  the  tribune 
and  ordered  the  poisoner  to  execution  for  prolonging  his  anxiety  while 
they  were  thinking  of  the  popular  talk  and  planning  their  own  defense. 
Then  they  promised  that  death  should  be  as  sudden  as  if  it  were  the 
hurried  work  of  the  dagger,  and  a  rapid  poison  of  previously  tested  in- 
gredients was  prepared  close  to  the  emperor's  chamber. 

It  was  customary  for  the  imperial  princes  to  sit  during  their  meals 
with  other  nobles  of  the  same  age,  in  the  sight  of  their  kinsfolk,  at  a 
table  of  their  own,  furnished  somewliat  frugally.  There  Britannicus  was 
dining,  and  as  what  he  ate  and  drank  was  always  tested  by  the  taste  of 
a  select  attendant,  the  following  device  was  contrived,  that  the  usage 
might  not  be  dro]iped  or  the  crime  betrayed  by  tlie  death  of  both  prince 
and  attendant.  A  cup  as  yet  harmless,  but  extremely  hot  and  already 
tasted,  was   handed  to  Britannicus  ;  then,  on    his  refusing  it  liccause  of 


Tacitus.  8 1 

its  warmth,  poison  was  poured  in  with  some  cold  water,  and  this  so 
penetrated  his  entire  frame  iliat  he  lost  alike  voice  and  breath.  There 
was  a  stir  among  the  company  ;  some,  taken  by  surprise,  ran  hither  and 
thither,  while  those  whose  discernment  was  keener,  remained  motionless, 
with  their  eyes  fixed  on  Nero,  who,  as  he  still  reclined  in  seeming  un- 
consciousness, said  that  this  was  a  common  occurrence,  from  a  periodical 
epilepsy,  with  which  Britannicus  had  been  afflicted  from  his  earliest 
infancy,  and  that  his  sight  and  senses  would  gradually  return.  As  for 
Agrippina,  her  terror  and  confusion,  though  her  countenance  struggled 
to  hide  it,  so  visibly  appeared,  that  she  was  clearly  just  as  ignorant  as  was 
Octavia,  Britannicus's  own  sister.  She  saw,  in  fact,  that  she  was  robbed 
of  her  only  remaining  refuge,  and  that  here  was  a  precedent  for  par- 
ricide. Even  Octavia,  notwithstanding  her  youthful  inexperience,  had 
learned  to  hide  her  grief,  her  affection,  and  indeed  every  emotion.  And 
so  after  a  brief  pause  the  company  resumed  its  mirth. 

"Of  all  things  lutman,"  remarks  Tacitus,  "the  most  pre- 
carious and  transitory  is  a  reputation  for  power  which  has  no 
strong  sui^port  of  its  own."  This  he  says  on  occasion  of  the 
disgrace  of  Agrippina,  whom  her  son  now  sent  avv^ay  from  the 
palace  and  deprived  of  her  military  guard.  The  wretched 
woman,  in  her  weakness,  did  not  fail  of  enemies  to  accuse  her 
to  her  son.  One  accusation,  naturally  to  her  son  the  heaviest, 
was  that  she  was  plotting  against  his  emperorship.  A  certain 
Plautus,  so  the  accusation  ran,  was  encouraged  by  Agrip])ina 
to  pretend  to  the  throne  of  the  Caesars.  Against  him  and 
the  emperor's  mother,  one  Paris  was  found  a  willing  in- 
former. Tacitus  now  (let  readers  not  miss  the  indications 
incidentally  dropped  by  the  historian,  as  to  his  method  in 
treating  his  authorities) : 

Night  was  far  advanced  and  Nero  was  still  sitting  over  his  cups, 
when  Paris  entered,  who  was  generally  wont  at  such  tiines  to  heighten 
the  emperor's  enjoyments,  but  who  now  wore  a  gloomy  expression.  He 
went  through  the  whole  evidence  in  order,  and  so  frightened  his  hearer 
as  to  make  him  resolVe  not  only  on  the  destruction  of  his  mother  and 
of  Plautus,  but  also  on  the  removal  of  Burrus  from  the  command  of  the 
guards,  as  a  man  who  had  been  promoted  by  Agrippina's  interest,  and 
was  now  showing  his  gratitude.  We  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Fabius 
4* 


82  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Rusticus  that  a  note  was  written  to  Cse-ci'na  Tuscus,  intrasting  to  Iiim 
the  charge  of  the  preetorian  cohorts,  but  that  through  Seneca's  influence 
that  distinguished  post  was  retained  for  Burrus.  According  to  Plinius 
and  Cluvius,  no  doubt  was  felt  about  the  commander's  loyalty.  Fabius 
certainly  inclines  to  the  praise  of  Seneca,  through  whose  friendship  he 
rose  to  honor.  Proposing  as  I  do  to  follow  the  consentient  testimony 
of  historians,  I  shall  give  the  differences  in  their  narratives  under  the 
writers'  names.  Nero,  in  his  bewilderment  and  impatience  to  destroy 
his  mother,  could  not  be  put  off  till  Burrus  answered  for  her  death, 
should  she  be  convicted  of  the  crime,  but  "any  one,"  he  said,  "  much 
more  a  parent,  must  be  allowed  a  defense.  Accusers  there  were  none 
forthcoming ;  they  had  before  them  only  the  word  of  a  single  person 
from  an  enemy's  house,  and  this  the  night  with  its  darkness  and  pro- 
longed festivity  and  every  thing  savoring  of  recklessness  and  folly,  was 
enough  to  refute." 

Having  thus  allayed  the  prince's  fears,  they  went  at  day-break  to 
Agrippina,  that  she  might  know  the  charges  against  her,  and  either 
rebut  them  or  suffer  the  penalty.  Burrus  fulfilled  his  instructions  in 
Seneca's  presence,  and  some  of  the  freedmen  were  present  to  witness 
the  interview.  Then  Burrus,  when  he  had  fully  explained  the  charges 
with  the  authors'  names,  assumed  an  air  of  menace.  Instantly  Agrip- 
pina, calling  up  all  her  high  spirit,  exclaimed,  "  I  wonder  not  that 
Silana,  who  has  never  borne  offspring,  knows  nothing  of  a  mother's 
feelings.  Parents  do  not  change  their  children  as  lightly  as  a  shame- 
less woman  does  her  paramours.  .  .  .  Only  let  the  man  come  forward 
who  can  charge  me  with  having  tampered  with  the  praetorian  cohorts  in 
the  capital,  with  having  sapped  the  loyalty  of  the  provinces,  or,  in  a 
word,  with  having  bribed  slaves  and  freedmen  into  any  wickedness. 
Could  I  have  lived  with  Britannicus  in  the  possession  of  power  ?  And 
if  Plautus  or  any  other  were  to  become  master  of  the  State  so  as  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  me,  accusers  forsooth  would  not  be  forthcoming  to  cliarge 
me  not  merely  with  a  few  incautious  expressions  prompted  by  the  eager- 
ness of  affection,  but  with  guilt  from  which  a  son  alone  could  absolve  me." 

There  was  profound  excitement  among  those  present,  and  they  even 
tried  to  soothe  her  agitation,  but  she  insisted  on  an  interview  with  her 
son.  Then,  instead  of  pleading  her  irmocence,  as  though  .she  lacked 
confidence,  or  her  claims  on  him  byway  of  reproach,  she  obtained  venge- 
ance on  her  accusers  and  rewards  for  her  friends. 

The  imi)udent  viciousness  of  Agrippina  enjoyed  it.s  momen- 
tary triumijh.     But  its  dreadful  doom  was  only  postponed. 


Tacitus.  83 

Nero  was  well  on  tlie  downward  road.  Facilis  descensus, 
and  the  rate  of  descent  already  was  swift.  Read  the  record 
(remember  that  still  there  was  the  titular  consulship,  and 
that  still,  as  of  old,  the  years  of  the  empire  were  reckoned  by 
the  names  of  the  consuls)  : 

In  the  consulship  of  Quintus  Vo-lu'si-us  and  Publius  Scipio,  there  was 
peace  abroad,  but  a  disgusting  licentiousness  at  home  on  the  part  of 
Nero,  who  in  a  slave's  disguise,  so  as  to  be  unrecognized,  would  wander 
through  the  streets  of  Rome,  to  brothels  and  taverns,  with  comrades, 
who  seized  on  goods  exposed  for  sale  and  inflicted  wounds  on  any  whom 
they  encountered,  some  of  these  last  knowing  him  so  little  that  he  even 
received  blows  himself  and  showed  the  marks  of  them  in  his  face. 
When  it  was  notorious  that  the  emperor  was  the  assailant,  and  the  in- 
sults on  men  and  women  of  distinction  were  multiplied,  other  persons, 
too,  on  the  strength  of  a  license  once  granted  under  Nero's  name,  vent- 
ured with  impunity  on  the  same  practices,  and  had  gangs  of  their  own, 
till  night  presented  the  scenes  of  a  captured  city. 

Julius  Mon-ta'nus,  a  senator,  but  one  who  had  not  yet  held  any  office, 
happened  to  encounter  the  prince  in  the  darkness,  and  because  he  fierce- 
ly repulsed  his  attack  and  then  on  recognizing  him  begged  for  mercy, 
as  though  this  was  a  reproach,  was  forced  to  destroy  himself.  Nero  was 
for  the  future  more  timid,  and  surrounded  himself  with  soldiers  and  a 
number  of  gladiators,  who,  when  a  fray  began  on  a  small  scale  and 
seemed  a  private  aftair,  were  to  let  it  alone,  but,  if  the  injured  persons 
resisted  stoutly,  they  rushed  in  with  their  swords. 

"Was  forced  to  destroy  himself."  Compulsory  suicide  be- 
came the  favorite  form  of  executing  a  capital  sentence  issu- 
ing from  the  arbitrary  will  of  tlie  emperor.  Tacitus  is  full  of 
instances  which  vary  the  monotony  of  imperial  murder  with 
every  conceivable  permutation  of  incident.  Pathetically  in- 
structive it  is,  to  come,  as  one  glances  along  these  pages 
dense  with  tragedy,  upon  occasional  sentences  like  the  fol- 
lowing: "Still  there  yet  remained  some  shadow  of  a  free 
State."  Again,  disdaining  to  do  more  than  merely  mention 
the  erection  of  a  great  amphitheater,  Tacitus  says  :  "  We  have 
learned  that  it  suits  the  dignity  of  the  Roman  people  to  re- 
serve history  for  great  achievements,  and  to  leave  such  details 


84  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

to  the  city's  daily  register."  Such  expressions  as  the  pre- 
ceding from  Tacitus  strikingly  reveal  the  char- 
acter of  their  author. 

The  climax  of  Nero's  wickedness,  as  the  gen- 
eral opinion  rates  it,  was  his  conspiracy  to  mur- 
der his  mother.  This  crime  is  now  near  at 
hand.  A  woman  was  the  immediate  cause. 
That  woman  was  the  infamous  Pop-pge'a.  Let . 
popp^A.       Tacitus  sketch  her  for  us : 

Popprea  had  every  tiling  but  a  right  mind.  Her  mother,  who  sur- 
passed in  personal  attractions  all  the  ladies  of  her  day,  had  bequeathed 
to  her  alike  fame  and  beauty.  Her  fortune  adequately  corresponded  to 
the  nobility  of  her  descent.  Her  conversation  was  charming  and  her 
wit  any  thing  but  dull.  She  professed  virtue,  while  she  practiced  laxity. 
Seldom  did  she  appear  in  public,  and  it  was  always  with  her  face  partly 
veiled,  either  to  disappoint  men's  gaze  or  to  set  off  her  beauty.  Her 
character  she  never  spared,  making  no  distinction  between  a  husband 
and  a  paramour,  while  she  was  never  a  slave  to  her  own  passion  or  to  that 
of  her  lover.  Wherever  there  was  a  prospect  of  advantage,  there  she 
transferred  her  favors. 

Poppsea  was  married  and  had  a  son,  but  this  did  not  pre- 
vent her  intriguing,  and  intriguing  successfully,  for  the  hand 
of  Otho,  that  favorite  of  Nero's.  She  now  had  what  she 
needed  in  order  to  get  what  she  wanted,  which  was — j)ower 
over  Nero.  Through  Otho,  used  as  tool  or  as  accomplice, 
she  got  access  to  the  emperor.  Her  shameless  arts  of  seduc- 
tion, and  her  cool  triangulation  toward  her  object,  are  thus 
described  by  Tacitus  : 

Poppcea  won  her  way  by  artful  blandishments,  pretending  that  she 
could  not  resist  her  passion  and  that  she  was  captivated  by  Nero's 
person.  Soon  as  the  emperor's  love  grew  ardent  she  would  change 
and  be  supercilious,  and,  if  she  were  detained  more  tlian  one  or  two 
nights,  would  say  again  and  again  that  she  was  a  married  woman  and 
could  not  give  up  her  husband  attached  as  she  was  to  Otho  by  a  manntr 
of  life  which  no  one  equaled.  "  His  ideas  and  his  style  were  grand  ; 
at  his  house  every  thing  worthy  o-f  tlie   highest   foitune  v.as   ever  Lcfuie 


Tacitus.  85 

her  eyes.  Nero,  on  the  contrary,  with  his  slave-girl  mistress,  tied  down 
by  his  attachment  to  Acte,  had  derived  nothing  from  his  slavish  associa- 
tions but  what  was  low  and  degrading." 

Tacitus  incessantly  interrtipts  his  narrative  of  Nero  in  re- 
lation to  his  mistresses,  his  favorites,  and  his  mother,  with 
accounts  of  various  contemporary  civil  and  military  transac- 
tions, important  to  the  completeness  of  the  history,  but  not 
of  interest  to  modern  readers.  It  is,  however,  worth  re- 
marking that  the  historian,  with  judicial  impartiality,  makes 
commendatory  note  of  certain  equitable  measures  adopted 
by  Nero  for  the  administration  of  the  empire,  adding  that 
they  "  for  a  short  time  were  maintained  and  were  subse- 
quently disregarded."  It  seems  to  have  been  Tacitus's 
feeling  that  Nero  should  have — he  certainly  needed — all  the 
credit  that  belonged  to  good  attempts  on  his  part,  of  any 
kind,  however  momentary. 

The  fourteenth  book  of  the  Annals  covers  a  period  of  three 
years,  from  59  A.  D.  to  62.  The  beginning  of  the  book  is 
occupied  with  narration  and  description  too  absorbingly 
interesting  to  be  either  abridged  or  interrupted.  V'/e  trans- 
fer a  long  passage,  which  will  not  seem  long,  to  these  pages. 
(We  need  to  forewarn  readers  that  here,  as  occasionally 
elsewhere  in  Tacitus,  they  will  come  upon  things  said  and 
suggested  by  the  historian  which,  for  an  exercise  of  reading 
aloud  in  a  mixed  company,  would  require  to  be  touched  upon 
very  lightly.  Such  things  we  should  gladly  have  omitted ; 
but  we  could  not,  omitting  them  altogether,  even  hint,  ade- 
quately, what  Tacitus  is,  and  what  is  the  dreadful  story  that 
Tacitus  had  it  for  his  mission  to  tell.  It  will  be  noted  that 
he  always  describes  vice  after  the  manner  of  a  man  strongly 
siding  with  virtue.) 

In  the  year  of  the  consulship  of  Caius  Vip-sta'nus  and  Caius  Fon-te'i-us, 
Nero  deferred  no  more  a  long-meditated  crime.  Length  of  power  had 
matured  his  daring,  and  his  passion  for  Popp?ea  daily  grew  more  ardent. 
As    tlie    woman  had  no    hope  of   marriage  for  herself  or  of  Octavja's 


86  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

divorce  while  Agrippina  lived,  she  would  reproach  the  emperor  with 
incessant  vituperation  and  sometimes  call  him  in  jest  a  mere  ward  who 
was  under  the  rule  of  others,  and  was  so  far  from  having  empire  that  he 
had  not  even  his  liberty.  "  Why,"  she  asked,  "was  her  marriage  put 
off?  Was  it,  forsooth,  her  beauty  and  her  ancestors,  with  their  tri- 
umphal honors,  that  failed  to  please  ;  or  her  being  a  mother,  and  her 
sincere  heart  ?  No  ;  the  fear  was  that  as  a  wife  at  least  she  would  di- 
vulge the  wrongs  of  the  Senate,  and  the  wrath  of  the  people  at  the  arro- 
gance and  rapacity  of  his  mother.  If  the  only  daughter-in-law  Agripoina 
could  bear  was  one  who  wished  evil  to  her  son,  let  her  be  restored  to  her 
union  with  Otho.  She  would  go  anywhere  in  the  world,  where  she 
migiit  hear  of  the  insults  heaped  on  the  emperor,  rather  than  witness 
them,  and  be  also  involved  in  liis  perils." 

These  and  the  like  complaints,  rendered  impressive  by  tears  and  by 
the  cunning  of  an  adulteress,  no  one  checked,  as  all  longed  to  sec  the 
mother's  power  broken,  while  not  a  person  believed  that  the  son's 
hatred  would  steel  his  heart  to  her  murder. 

Cluvius  relates  that  Agrippina  in  her  eagerness  to  retain  her  influence 
went  so  far  that  more  than  once  at  midday,  when  Nero,  even  at  that 
hour,  was  flushed  with  wine  and  feasting,  she  presented  herself  attract- 
ively attired  to  her  half-intoxicated  son.  .  .  .  When  kinsfolk  observed 
wanton  kisses  and  caresses,  portending  infamy,  it  was  Seneca  who 
sought  a  female's  aid  against  a  woman's  fascinations,  and  hurried  in 
Acte,  the  freed  girl,  who  alarmed  at  her  own  peril,  and  at  Nero's  dis- 
grace, told  him  that  the  incest  was  notorious,  as  his  mother  boasted  of 
it,  and  that  the  soldiers  would  never  endure  the  rule  of  an  impious 
sovereign.  Fabius  Rusticus  tells  us  that  it  was  not  Agrippina,  but  Nero 
who  lasted  for  the  crime,  and  that  it  was  frustrated  by  the  adroitness  of 
that  same  freed-girl.  Cluvius's  account,  however,  is  also  that  of  all 
other  authors,  and  popular  belief  inclines  to  it,  whether  it  was  that 
Agrippina  really  conceived  such  a  monstrous  wickedness  in  her  heart, 
or  perhaps  because  the  thought  of  a  strange  passion  seemed  compara- 
tively credible  in  a  woman,  who  in  her  girlish  years  had  allowed  herself 
tol)e  seduced  by  Lepidus  in  the  hope  of  winning  power,  had  stooped  with 
a  like  ambition  to  the  lust  of  Pallas,  and  had  trained  herself  for  every 
infamy  by  her  marriage  with  her  uncle. 

Nero  accordingly  avoided  secret  interviews  with  her,  and  when  she 
witiidrew  to  her  gardens  or  to  her  estates  at  Tusculuni  and  Antium,  ho 
praised  her  for  courting  repose.  At  last,  convinced  that  she  would  bo 
too  formidable,  wherever  she  might  dwell,  he  resolved  to  destroy  her, 
merely  deliberating  whether  it  was  to  be  accomplished  by  poison,  or  by 


Tacitus.  87 

the  sword,  or  l)y  any  oilier  violent  means.  Poison  at  fust  seemed  best, 
but,  were  it  to  be  administered  at  the  imperial  table,  the  result  could 
not  be  referred  to  chance  after  the  recent  circumstances  of  the  death  of 
Brilannicus.  Again,  to  tamper  with  the  servants  of  a  woman  who, 
from  her  familiarity  with  crime,  was  on  her  guard  against  treachery, 
appeared  to  be  extremely  difficult,  and  then,  too,  she  had  fortified  l.er 
constitution  by  the  use  of  antidotes.  How  again  the  dagger  and  its 
work  were  to  be  kept  secret,  no  one  could  suggest,  and  it  was  feared  loo 
that  whoever  might  be  chosen  to  execute  such  a  crime  would  spurn  the 
order. 

An  ingenious  suggestion  was  offered  by  An-i-ce'tus,  a  freedman,  com- 
mander of  the  fleet  at  Mise'num,  who  had  been  tutor  to  Nero  in  boy- 
hood and  had  a  hatred  of  Agrippina  which  she  reciprocated.  He  ex- 
plained that  a  vessel  could  be  constructed,  from  which  a  part  might  by 
a  contrivance  be  detached,  when  out  at  sea,  so  as  to  plunge  her  una- 
wares into  the  water.  "Nothing,"  he  said,  "allowed  of  accidents  so 
much  as  the  sea,  and  should  she  be  overtaken  by  shipwreck,  who  would 
be  so  unfair  as  to  impute  to  crime  an  offense  committed  by  the  winds 
and  waves?  The  emperor  would  add  the  honor  of  a  temple  and  of 
shrines  to  the  deceased  lady,  with  every  other  display  of  filial  affection." 

Nero  liked  the  device,  favored  as  it  also  was  by  the  particular  time,  for 
he  was  celebrating  Minerva's  five  days'  festival  at  Bai'^.  Thilher  he 
enticed  his  mother  by  repeated  assurances  that  children  ought  to  bear 
with  the  irritability  of  parents  and  to  soothe  their  tempers,  wishing  thus 
to  spread  a  rumor  of  reconciliation  and  to  secure  Agrippina's  acceptance 
through  the  feminine  credulity,  which  easily  believes  what  gives  joy.  As 
she  approached,  he  went  to  the  shore  to  meet  her  (she  was  coming  from 
Antium),  welcomed  her  with  outstretched  hand  and  embrace,  and  con- 
ducted her  to  Bauli.  This  was  the  name  of  a  country  house,  washed  by 
a  bay  of  the  sea,  between  the  promontory  of  Misenum  and  the  lake  of 
Baiae.  Here  was  a  vessel  distinguished  from  others  by  its  equipment, 
seemingly  meant,  among  other  things,  to  do  honor  to  his  mother ;  for 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  sail  in  a  trireme,  with  a  crew  of  marines. 
And  now  she  was  invited  to  a  banquet,  that  night  might  serve  to  conceal 
the  crime.  It  was  well  known  that  somebody  had  been  found  to  betray  it, 
that  Agrippina  had  heard  of  the  plot,  and  in  doubt  whether  she  was  to 
believe  it,  was  conveyed  to  Bain;  in  her  litter.  There  some  .sootliinc;; 
words  allayed  her  fear ;  she  was  graciously  received,  and  seated  at  table 
above  the  emperor.  Nero  prolonged  the  banquet  with  various  conversa- 
tion, passing  from  a  youth's  playful  familiarity  to  an  air  of  constraint, 
which  seemed  to  indicate  serious  thought,  and  then,  after  protracted  fes- 


88  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

tivity,  escorted  her  on  her  departure,  clinging  with  kisses  to  her  eyes 
and  bosom,  either  to  crown  his  hypocrisy  or  because  the  last  sight  of  a 
mother  on  the  eve  of  destruction  caused  a  lingering  even  in  that  brutal 
heart. 

A  night  of  brilliant  starlight  with  the  calm  of  a  tranquil  sea  was  granted 
by  heaven,  seemingly,  to  convict  the  crime.  The  vessel  had  not  gone 
far,  Agrippina  having  with  her  two  of  her  intimate  attendants,  one  of 
whom,Cre-pe-re'ius  Gallus,  stood  near  the  helm, while  A-cer-ro'ni-a.reclin- 
ing  at  Agrippina's  feet  as  she  reposed  herself,  spoke  joyfully  of  her  son's 
repentance  and  of  the  recovery  of  the  mother's  influence,  when  at  a  given 
signal  the  ceiling  of  the  place,  which  was  loaded  with  a  quantity  of  lead, 
fell  in,  and  Crepereius  was  crushed  and  instantly  killed.  Agri]^pina 
and  Acerronia  were  protected  by  the  projecting  sides  of  the  couch, 
which  happened  to  be  too  strong  to  yield  under  the  weight.  But  this 
was  not  followed  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  vessel  ;.for  all  were  bewil- 
dered, and  those  too,  who  were  in  the  plot,  were  hindered  by  the  uncon- 
scious majority.  The  crew  then  thought  it  best  to  throw  the  vessel  on 
one  side  and  so  sink  it,  but  they  could  not  themselves  promptly  unite 
to  face  the  emergency,  and  others,  by  counteracting  the  attempt,  gave 
an  opportunity  of  a  gentler  fall  into  the  sea.  Acerronia,  however, 
thoughtlessly  exclaiming  that  she  was  Agrippina,  and  imploring  help 
for  the  emperor's  mother,  was  dispatched  with  poles  and  oar-,  and  such 
naval  implements  as  chance  offered.  Agrippina  was  silent  and  was 
thus  the  less  recognized  ;  still,  she  received  a  wound  in  her  shoulder. 
She  swam,  then  met  with  some  small  boats  which  conveyed  her  to 
the  Lucrine  lake,  and  so  entered  her  house. 

There  she  reflected  how  for  this  very  purpose  she  had  been  invited  by 
a  lying  letter  and  treated  with  conspicuous  honor,  how  also  it  was 
near  the  shore,  not  from  being  driven  by  winds  or  dashed  on  rocks,  that 
the  vessel  had  in  its  upper  part  collapsed,  like  a  mechanism  any  thing 
but  nautical.  She  pondered  too  the  death  of  Acerronia  ;  she  looked  at 
her  own  wound,  and  saw  that  her  only  safeguard  against  treachery  was 
to  ignore  it.  Then  she  sent  her  freedman  A-ger-i'nus  to  tell  her  son  how 
by  heaven's  favor  and  his  good  fortune  she  had  escaped  a  terrible  dis- 
aster ;  that  she  begged  him,  alarmed,  as  he  might  be,  by  his  mother's 
peril,  to  put  off  the  duty  of  a  visit,  as  for  the  present  she  needed  repose. 
Meanwhile,  pretending  that  she  felt  secure,  she  applied  remedies  to  her 
wound,  and  fomentations  to  her  person.  She  then  ordered  search  to  be 
made  for  the  will  of  Acerronia,  and  her  property  to  be  sealed,  in  this 
alone  throwing  off  disguise. 

Nero,  meantime,  as  he  waited  for  tidings  of  the  consummation  of  the 


Tacitus.  89 

deed,  received  information  that  slie  had  escaped  with  the  injury  of  a 
shght  wound,  after  having  so  far  encountered  the  peril  tliat  lliere 
could  be  no  question  as  to  its  author.  Then,  paralyzed  with  terror  and 
protesting  that  she  would  show  herself  the  next  moment  eager  for  venge- 
ance, either  arming  the  slaves  or  stirring  up  the  soldiery,  or  hastening 
to  the  Senate  and  the  people,  to  charge  him  with  the  wreck,  with  her 
wound,  and  with  the  destruction  of  her  friends,  he  asked  what  resource  he 
had  against  all  this,  unless  something  could  be  at  once  devised  by  Burrus 
and  Seneca.  He  had  instantly  summoned  both  of  them,  and  possibly 
they  were  already  in  the  secret.  There  was  a  long  silence  on  their  part ; 
they  feared  they  might  remonstrate  in  vain,  or  believed  the  crisis  to  be 
such  that  Nero  must  perish,  unless  Agrippina  were  at  once  crushed. 
Thereupon  Seneca  was  so  far  the  more  prompt  as  to  glance  back  on 
Burrus,  as  if  to  ask  him  whether  the  bloody  deed  must  be  required  of  the 
soldiers.  Burrus  replied  "  that  the  praetorians  were  attached  to  the  whole 
family  of  the  Caesars,  and  remembering  Ger-man'i-cus  would  not  dare  a 
savage  deed  on  his  offspring.  It  was  for  Anicetus  to  accomplish  his 
promise." 

Anicetus,  without  a  pause,  claimed  for  himself  the  consummation  of 
the  crime.  At  those  words,  Nero  declai-ed  that  that  day  gave  him  em- 
pire, and  that  a  freedman  was  the  author  of  this  mighty  boon.  '"Go," 
he  said,  "with  all  speed  and  take  with  you  the  men  readiest  to  execute 
your  orders."  He  himself,  when  he  had  heard  of  the  arrival  of  Agrip- 
pina's  messenger,  Agerinus,  contrived  a  theatrical  mode  of  accusation, 
and,  while  the  man  was  repeating  his  message,  threw  down  a  sword  at 
his  feet,  then  ordered  him  to  be  put  in  irons,  as  a  detected  criminal,  so 
that  he  might  invent  a  story  how  his  mother  had  plotted  the  emperor's 
destruction;  and  in  the  shanie  of  discovered  guilt  had,  by  her  own  choice, 
sought  death. 

Meantime,  Agrippina's  peril  being  universally  known  and  taken  to  be 
an  accidental  occurrence,  every  body,  the  moment  he  heard  of  it,  hur- 
ried down  to  the  beach.  Some  climbed  projecting  piers  ;  some  the  near- 
est vessels ;  some,  again,  stood  with  outstretched  arms,  while  the  whole 
shore  rung  with  wailings,  with  prayers  and  cries,  as  different  questions 
were  asked  and  uncertain  answers  given.  A  vast  multitude  streamed  to 
the  spot  with  torches,  and  as  soon  as  all  knew  that  she  was  safe,  tliey  at 
once  prepared  to  wish  her  joy,  till  the  sight  of  an  armed  and  threatening 
force  scared  them  away.  Anicetus  then  surrounded  the  house  with  a 
guard,  and  having  burst  open  the  gates,  dragged  off  the  slaves  who  met 
him,  till  he  came  to  the  door  of  her  chamber,  where  a  few  still  stood, 
after  the  rest  had  lied  in  terror  at  the  attack.     A  small  lamp  was  in  the 


go 


Colles'e  Latin  Course  in  English. 


room,  and  one  slave-girl  with  Agrippina,  who  grew  more  and  more 
anxious,  as  no  messenger  came  from  her  son,  not  even  Agerinus,  while 
the  appearance  of  the  shore  was  changed,  a  solitude  one  moment,  then 
sudden  bustle  and  tokens  of  the  worst  catastrophe.  As  the  girl  rose  to 
depart,  she  exclaimed,  "  Do  you,  too,  forsake  me  ?  "  and  looking  round 
saw  Anicetus,  who  had  with  him  the  captain  of  the  trireme,  Her-cu-le'- 

ius  and  O-bar'i-tus,  a  centu- 
rion of  marines.  "  If,"  said 
she,  "  you  have  come  to  see 
me,  take  back  word  that  I 
have  recovered,  but  if  you  are 
here  to  do  a  crime,  I  believe 
nothing  about  my  son ;  he 
has  not  ordered  his  mother's 
murder." 

The  assassins  closed  in 
round  her  couch,  and  the  cap- 
tain of  the  trireme  first  struck 
her  head  violently  with  a  club. 
Then,  as  the  centurion  bared 
his  sword  for  the  fatal  deed, 
presenting  her  person,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  Smite  my  womb," 
and  with  many  wounds  she 
was  slain. 

So  far  our  accounts  agree. 
That  Nero  gazed  on  his  moth- 
er after  her  death  and  praised 
her  beauty  some  have  related, 
while  others  deny  it.  Iler 
body  was  burned  that  same 
night  on  a  dining-couch,  with 
a  mean  funeral ;  nor,  as  long 
as  Nero  was  in  power,  was 
the  earth  raised  into  a  mound,  or  even  decently  closed.  Subsequently 
she  received  from  the  solicitude  of  her  domestics,  a  humble  sepulcher  on 
the  road  to  Miscnum,  near  the  country-house  of  Cresar  the  Dictator, 
which  from  a  great  height  commands  a  view  of  the  bay  beneath.  As 
soon  as  the  funeral  pile  was  lighted  one  of  her  freedmen,  surnamed 
Monestcr,  ran  himself  through  with  a  sword,  eitlier  from  love  of  his 
mistress  or  from  the  fear  of  destruction. 


AGRIPPINA. 


Tacitus.  9 1 

Many  years  before  Agrippina  had  anticipated  tliis  end  for  herself,  and 
liad  spurned  the  thought.  For  when  she  consulted  the  astrologers  about 
Nero,  they  replied  that  he  would  be  emperor  and  kill  his  mother.  "  Let 
him  kill  her,"  she  said,  "  provided  he  is  emperor." 

But  the  emperor,  when  the  crime  was  at  last  accomplished,  realized 
its  portentous  guilt.  The  rest  of  the  night,  now  silent  and  stupefied,  now 
and  still  oftener  starting  up  in  terror,  bereft  of  reason,  he  awaited  the 
dawn  as  if  it  would  bring  with  it  his  doom.  He  was  first  encouraged 
to  hope  by  the  flattery  addressed  to  him,  at  the  prompting  of  Burrus,  by 
the  centurions  and  tribunes,  who  again  and  again  pressed  his  hand  and 
congratulated  him  on  his  having  escaped  an  unforeseen  danger  and  his 
mother's  daring  crime.  Tlien  his  friends  went  to  the  temples,  and,  an 
example  having  once  been  set,  the  neighboring  towns  of  Campania  testi- 
fied their  joy  with  sacrifices  and  deputations.  He  himself,  with  an  ap- 
posite phase  of  hypocrisy,  seemed  sad,  and  almost  angry  at  his  own  de- 
liverance, and  shed  tears  over  his  mother's  death.  But  as  the  aspects 
of  places  change  not,  as  do  the  looks  of  men,  and  as  he  had  ever  before 
his  eyes  the  dreadful  sight  of  that  sea  with  its  shores  (some,  too,  believed 
tliat  the  notes  of  a  funeral  trumpet  were  heard  from  the  surrounding 
heights,  and  wailings  from  the  mother's  grave),  he  retired  to  Neapolis, 
and  sent  a  letter  to  the  Senate,  the  drift  of  which  was  that  Agerinus,  one 
of  Agrippina's  confidential  frcedmen,  had  been  detected  with  the  dagger 
of  an  assassin,  and  that  in  the  consciousness  of  having  planned  the  crime 
she  had  paid  its  penalty. 

He  even  revived  the  charges  of  a  period  long  past,  how  she  had  aimed 
at  a  share  of  empire,  and  at  inducing  the  prcetorian  cohorts  to  swear 
obedience  to  a  woman,  to  the  disgrace  of  the  Senate  and  people  ;  how, 
when  she  was  disappointed,  in  her  fury  with  the  soldiers,  the  Senate, 
and  the  populace,  she  opposed  the  usual  donative  and  largess,  and  or- 
ganized perilous  prosecutions  against  distinguished  citizens.  What 
efforts  had  it  cost  him  to  hinder  her  from  bursting  into  the  Senate-house 
and  giving  answers  to  foreign  nations !  He  glanced,  too,  with  indirect 
censure  at  the  days  of  Claudius,  and  ascribed  all  the  abominations  of 
that  reign  to  his  mother,  thus  seeking  to  show  that  it  was  the  State's 
good  fortune  which  had  destroyed  her.  For  he  actually  told  the  story 
of  the  shipwreck  ;  but  who  could  be  so  stupid  as  to  believe  that  it  was 
accidental,  or  that  a  shipwrecked  woman  had  sent  one  man  with  a 
weapon  to  break  through  an  emperor's  guards  and  fleets?  So  now  it  was 
not  Nero,  whose  brutality  was  far  beyond  any  remonstrance,  but  Seneca, 
who  was  in  ill  repute,  for  having  written  a  confession  in  such  a  style. 

Still  there  was  a  marvelous  rivalry  among   the  nobles  in  decreeing 


92  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

thanksgivings  at  all  the  shrines,  and  the  celebration  with  annual  games 
of  Minerva's  festival,  as  the  day  on  which  the  plot  had  been  discovered  ; 
also,  that  a  golden  image  of  Minerva,  with  a  statue  of  the  emperor  by 
its  side,  should  be  set  up  in  the  Senate-liouse,  and  that  Agrippina's  birth- 
day should  be  classed  among  the  inauspicious  days.  Thrasea  Paetus, 
who  liad  been  used  to  pass  over  previous  flatteries  in  silence  or  with 
brief  assent,  then  walked  out  of  the  Senate,  thereby  imperiling  him- 
self, without  communicating  to  the  other  senators  any  impulse  toward 
freedom. 

There  occurred,  too,  a  thick  succession  of  portents,  which  meant  noth- 
ing. A  woman  gave  birth  to  a  snake,  and  another  was  killed  by  a 
thunder-bolt  in  her  husband's  embrace.  Then  the  sun  was  suddenly 
darkened  and  the  fourteen  districts  of  tlie  city  were  struck  by  lightning. 
All  this  happened  quite  without  any  providential  design  ;  so  much  so, 
that  for  many  subsequent  years  Nero  prolonged  his  reign  and  his 
crimes. 

Can  any  thing  be  conceived  of  more  incredible  than  such 
wickedness  as  Nero's }  Yes.  Tlie  baseness  exhibited  in 
view  of  Nero's  wickedness,  by  the  senate,  and  by  the  people 
of  Rome,  was  more  incredible  still.     Tacitus  : 

While  Nero  was  lingering  in  the  towns  of  Campania,  doubting  how  he 
should  enter  Rome,  whetlier  he  would  find  the  Senate  submissive  and 
the  populace  enthusiastic,  all  the  vilest  courtiers,  and  of  these  never  had 
a  court  a  more  abundant  crop,  argued  against  his  hesitation,  by  assuring 
him  that  Agrippina's  name  was  hated,  and  that  her  death  had  height- 
ened his  popularity.  "  He  might  go  without  a  fear,"  they  said,  "  and 
experience  in  his  person  men's  veneration  for  him."  They  insisted  at 
the  same  time  on  preceding  him.  They  found  greater  enthusiasm  than 
they  had  promised,  the  tribes  coming  forth  to  meet  him,  the  Senate  in 
holiday  attire,  troops  of  their  children  and  wives  arranged  according  to 
sex  and  age,  tiers  of  seats  raised  for  the  spectacle,  where  he  was  to  pass, 
as  a  triumph  is  witnessed.  Thus  elated  and  exulting  over  his  people's 
slavery,  he  proceeded  to  the  Capitol,  performed  the  thanksgiving,  and 
then  plunged  into  all  the  excesses,  which,  though  ill-restrained,  some  sort 
of  respect  for  his  motlier  had  for  awhile  delayed. 

"Some  sort  of  respect  for  his  mother"  surviving  in  Nero, 
seems  a  rather  fanciful  reason  for  Tacitus  to  assign,  in  ex- 
plaining any  part  of  the   emperor's  conduct.     There  follows 


Tacilus.  93 

immediately  now  from  the  hand  of  Tacitus  as  dreadful  a 
])icture  of  omnipotent  and  frolicsome  despotism  as  ever  was 
drawn.  It  is  almost  an  adequate  punishment  of  the  infamy, 
to  have  the  infamy  thus  pitilessly  damned  to  everlasting 
contempt : 

He  had  long  had  a  fancy  for  driving  a  four-liorse  chariot,  and  a  no 
less  degrading  taste  for  singing  to  the  harp,  in  a  theatrical  fashion, 
wlien  he  was  at  dinner.  This  he  would  remind  people  was  a  royal  cus- 
tom, and  had  been  the  practice  of  ancient  chiefs ;  it  was  celebrated  too 
in  the  praises  of  poets  and  was  meant  to  sliow  honor  to  the  gods. 
Songs,  indeed,  he  said,  were  sacred  to  Apollo,  and  it  was  in  the  dress  of 
a  singer  that  that  great  and  prophetic  deity  was  seen  in  Roman  temples  as 
well  as  in  Greek  cities.  He  could  no  longer  be  restrained,  when  Seneca 
and  Burrus  thought  it  best  to  concede  one  point  that  he  might  not  persist 
in  both.  A  space  was  inclosed  in  the  Vatican  valley  where  he  miglit 
manage  his  horses,  without  the  spectacle  being  public.  Soon  he  actually 
invited  all  the  people  of  Rome,  who  extolled  him  in  their  praises,  like  a 
mob  which  craves  for  amusements  and  rejoices  when  a  prince  draws 
them  the  same  way.  However,  the  pulilic  exposure  of  his  shame  acted 
on  him  as  an  incentive  instead  of  sickening  him,  as  men  expected. 
Imagining  that  he  mitigated  the  scandal  by  disgracing  many  others,  he 
brought  on  the  stage  descendants  of  noble  families,  who  sold  themselves, 
because  they  were  paupers.  As  they  have  ended  their  days,  I  think  it 
due  to  their  ancestors  not  to  hand  down  their  names.  And  indeed  the 
infamy  is  his  who  gave  them  wealth  to  reward  their  degradation  rather 
than  to  deter  them  from  degrading  themselves.  He  prevailed  too  on 
some  well-known  Roman  knights,  by  immense  presents,  to  offer  their 
services  in  the  amphitheater  ;  only  pay  from  one  who  is  able  to  com- 
mand, carries  with  it  the  force  of  compulsion. 

Still,  not  yet  wishing  to  disgrace  himself  on  a  public  stage,  he  insti- 
tuted some  games  under  the  title  of  "juvenile  sports,"  for  which  people 
of  every  class  gave  in  their  names.  Neither  rank  nor  age  nor  previous 
high  promotion  hindered  any  one  from  practicing  the  art  of  a  Greek  or 
Latin  actor,  and  even  stooping  to  gestures  and  songs  unfit  for  a  man. 
Noble  ladies  too  actually  played  disgusting  parts,  and  in  the  grove, 
with  wliich  Augustus  had  surrounded  the  lake  for  the  naval  fight,  there 
were  erected  places  for  mcetiuL^  and  refreshment,  and  every  incentive  to 
excess  was  offered  for  sale.  Money  too  was  distributed,  which  the  re- 
spectable had  to  spend  under  sheer  compulsion  and  which  the  profligate 
gloried  in  squandering.     Hence  a  rank  growth  of  abominations  and  of 


94  College  Latin  Course  in  Eng-Ush. 


all  infamy.  Never  did  a  more  filthy  rabble  add  a  worse  licentiousness 
to  our  long  corrupted  morals.  Even,  with  virtuous  training,  purity  is 
not  easily  upheld  ;  far  less  amid  rivalries  in  vice  could  modesty  or 
propriety  or  any  trace  of  good  manners  be  preserved.  Last  of  all,  the 
emperor  himself  came  on  the  stage,  tuning  his  lute  with  elaborate  care 
and  trying  his  voice  with  his  attendants.  There  were  also  present,  to 
complete  the  show,  a  guard  of  soldiers  with  centurions  and  tribunes, 
and  Burrus,  who  grieved  and  yet  applauded.  Then  it  was  that  Roman 
knights  were  first  enrolled  under  the  title  of  Augustani,  men  in  their 
prime  and  remarkable  for  their  strength,  some  from  a  natural  frivolity, 
others  from  the  hope  of  promotion.  Day  and  night  they  kept  up  a 
thunder  of  applause,  and  applied  to  the  emperor's  person  and  voice  the 
epithets  of  deities.  Thus  they  lived  in  fame  and  honor,  as  if  on  the 
strength  of  theii"  merits. 

Nero  however,  that  he  might  not  be  known  only  for  his  accomplish- 
ments as  an  actor,  also  aff'ected  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  drew  round  him 
persons  who  had  some  skill  in  such  compositions,  but  not  yet  generally 
recognized.  They  used  to  sit  with  him,  stringing  together  verses  pre- 
pared at  home,  or  extemporized  on  the  spot,  and  fill  up  his  own  expres- 
sions, such  as  they  were,  just  as  he  threw  them  off.  This  is  plainly 
shown  by  the  very  character  of  the  poems,  which  have  no  vigor  or  in- 
spiration, or  unity  in  their  flow. 

He  would  also  bestow  some  leisure  after  his  banquets  on  the  teachers 
of  philosophy,  for  he  enjoyed  the'  wrangles  of  opposing  dogmatists. 
And  some  there  were  who  liked  to  exhibit  their  gloomy  faces  and  looks, 
as  one  of  the  amusements  of  the  court. 

It  is  some  relief  to  the  long  monotony  of  shame  which 
draws  out  in  Tacitus  the  story  of  Nero,  to  read  of  distant 
wars  and  expeditions  that  meanwhile  continued  the  great 
career  of  the  empire.  Cor'bu-lo  is  a  Roman  general,  destined 
to  a  tragical  end,  who,  till  near  the  close  of  Nero's  reign, 
figured  conspicuously  as  conqueror  in  the  East.  We  have 
here  no  room  for  more  than  this  mere  mention  of  Corbulo's 
name.  The  name  of  London,  scarcely  disguised  as  Lon- 
dinium,  catches  the  eye.  The  place  is  spoken  of  as  "much 
frequented  by  a  number  of  merchants  and  trading  vessels." 
Little  did  the  Roman  historian  dream  that,  one  day,  his  his- 
tory would  be   read  by  Londoners  who  could  justly  claim 


Tacitus.  95 

that  their  town  was  a  city  greater  than  Rome  at  its  height  ever 
was.  The  British  queen,  Bo-a-di-ce'a,  careers  for  a  moment 
into  the  pages  of  Tacitus : 

Boadicea,  witli  her  daughters  before  her  in  a  chariot,  went  up  to  tril)e 
after  tribe,  protesting  that  it  was  indeed  usual  for  Britons  to  fight  un- 
der the  leadership  of  women.  "But  now,"  she  said,  "it  is  not  as  a 
woman  descended  from  noble  ancestry,  but  as  one  of  the  people,  that  I 
am  avenging  lost  freedom,  my  scourged  body,  the  outraged  chastity  of 
my  daughters.  Roman  lust  has  gone  so  far  that  not  our  very  persons, 
nor  even  age  or  virginity,  are  left  unpolluted.  But  heaven  is  on  the  side 
of  a  righteous  vengeance  ;  a  legion  which  dared  to  fight  has  perished  ; 
the  rest  are  hiding  themselves  in  their  camp,  or  are  thinking  anxiously 
of  flight.  They  will  not  sustain  even  the  din  and  the  shout  of  so  many 
thousands,  much  less  our  charge  and  our  blows.  If  you  weigh  well  the 
strength  of  the  armies,  and  the  causes  of  the  war,  you  will  see  that  in 
this  battle  you  must  conquer  or  die.  This  is  a  woman's  resolve  ;  as  for 
men,  they  may  live  and  be  slaves." 

Tennyson,  among  his  "  Experiments,"  so-called,  has  a 
powerful  poem,  in  a  peculiar  measure,  entitled  "  Boadicea." 
This  will  be  read  with  interest,  as  explained  and  illustrated 
by  the  full  text  of  Tacitus — which  full  text  we  have  not  room 
for,  but  which  will  be  found  in  the  fourteenth  book,  chapters 
29-35,  of  the  Annals.  Tennyson's  "Boadicea"  is,  in  fact,  a 
poet's  paraphrase  and  amplification  of  the  brave  and  touch- 
ing story  of  the  British  queen,  as  told  by  the  ancient  histo- 
rian, Tennyson  puts  into  the  speech  of  Boadicea  matter 
related  by  Tacitus  in  paragraphs  of  his  history  preceding 
that  which  we  quote  above.  This  is  picturesque,  as  Tenny- 
son knows  how  to  produce  the  picturesque : 

So  the  Queen  Boadicea,  standing  loftily  charioted, 
Brandishing  in  her  hand  a  dart  and  rolling  glances  lioness-like, 
Ytlled  and  shrieked  between  her  daughters  in  her  fierce  volubility. 
Till  her  people  all  around  the  royal  chariot  agitated. 
Madly  dashed  the  darts  together,  writhing  barbarous  lineaments. 
Made  the  noise  of  frosty  woodlands,  when  they  shiver  in  January, 
Roared  as  when  the  rolling  breakers  boom  and  blanch  on  the  precipices, 
Yelled  as  when  the  winds  of  winter  tear  an  oak  on  a  promontory. 


96  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Burrus  makes  his  figure  in  the  pages  of  Tacitus,  rather 
through  the  praises  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  historian, 
than  through  any  recital  of  things  that  he  achieved.  His 
end  was  not  without  accompaniment  of  tragedy.  The  tale 
is,  with  that  suggestion  of  pathos  so  characteristic  of  Tacitus, 
and  in  him  so  effective,  thus  briefly  told  by  the  historian  : 

While  the  miseries  of  the  State  were  daily  growing  worse,  its  supports 
were  becoming  weaker.  Burrus  died,  whether  from  illness  or  from 
poison  was  a  question.  It  was  supposed  to  be  illness  from  the  fact  that 
from  the  gradual  swelling  of  his  throat  inwardly  and  the  closing  up  of 
the  passage  he  ceased  to  breathe.  Many  positively  asserted  that  by 
Nero's  order  his  throat  was  smeared  with  some  poisonous  drug  under 
the  pretense  of  the  application  of  a  remedy,  and  that  Burrus,  who  saw 
through  the  crime,  when  the  emperor  paid  him  a  visit,  recoiled  with 
horror  from  his  gaze,  and  merely  replied  to  his  question,  "  I  indeed  am 
well."  Rome  felt  for  him  a  deep  and  lasting  regret,  because  of  the 
remembrance  of  his  worth,  because  too  of  the  merely  passive  virtue  of 
one  of  his  successors  and  the  very  flagrant  iniquities  of  the  other. 

The  fall  from  jDower  of  Seneca  was  as  graceful,  decorous, 
and  dignified  a  piece  of  acting,  as  a  scene  well  presented 
out  of  the  French  classic  drama  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Readers  will  think  of  Wolsey  and  King  Henry  the  Eighth. 
Tacitus : 

The  death  of  Burrus  was  a  blow  to  Seneca's  power,  for  virtue  had  not 
the  same  strength  when  one  of  its  champions,  so  to  say,  was  removed, 
and  Nero  too  began  to  lean  on  worse  advisers.  They  assailed  Seneca 
with  various  charges,  representing  that  he  continued  to  increase  a  wealth 
which  was  already  so  vast  as  to  be  beyond  the  scale  of  a  subject,  and 
was  drawing  to  himself  the  attachment  of  the  citizens,  while  in  the 
picluresqueness  of  his  gardens  and  the  magnificence  of  his  country- 
houses  he  almost  surpassed  the  emperor.  They  further  alleged  against 
him  that  he  claimed  for  himself  alone  the  honors  of  eloquence,  and  com- 
posed poetry  more  assiduously,  as  soon  as  a  passion  for  it  had  seized  on 
Nero.  "Openly  inimical  to  the  prince's  amusements,  he  disparaged  his 
ability  in  driving  horses,  and  ridiculed  his  voice  whenever  he  sang. 
When  was  there  to  be  an  end  of  .nothing  being  publicly  admired  but 
what  Seneca  was  thought  to  have  originated  !     Surely  Nero's  boyhood 


.  Tacitus.  97 

was  over,  and  he  was  all  but  in  the  prime  of  youthful  manhood.  He 
ought  to  shake  off  a  tutor,  furnished  as  he  was  with  sufficiently  noble 
instructors  in  his  own  ancestors." 

Seneca  meanwhile,  aware  of  these  slanders,  which  were  revealed  to 
him  by  those  who  had  some  respect  for  merit,  coupled  with  the  fact  that 
the  emperor  more  and  more  shunned  his  intimacy,  besought  the  oppor- 
tunity of  an  interview.     This  was  granted,  and  he  spoke  as  follows  : 

"It  is  fourteen  years  ago,  Caesar,  that  I  was  first  associated  with  your 
prospects,  and  eight  years  since  you  have  been  emperor.  In  the  interval 
you  have  heaped  on  me  such  honors  and  riches  that  nothing  is  wanting 
to  my  happiness  but  a  right  use  of  it.  I  will  refer  to  great  examples 
taken  not  from  my  own  but  from  your  position.  Your  great-grandfather 
Augustus  granted  to  Marcus  Agrippa  the  calm  repose  of  Mit-y-le'ne,  to 
Caius  Mfficenas  what  was  nearly  equivalent  to  a  foreign  retreat  in  the 
capital  itself.  One  of  these  men  shared  his  wars ;  the  other  struggled 
with  many  laborious  duties  at  Rome  ;  both  received  rewards  which  were 
indeed  splendid,  but  only  proportioned  to  their  great  merits.  For  my- 
self, what  other  recompense  had  I  for  your  munificence  than  a  culture 
nursed,  so  to  speak,  in  the  shade  of  retirement,  and  to  which  a  glory 
attaches  itself,  because  I  thus  seemed  to  have  helped  on  the  early  train- 
ing of  your  youth,  an  ample  reward  for  the  service. 

"You  on  the  other  hand  have  surrounded  me  with  vast  influence  and 
boundless  wealth,  so  that  I  often  think  within  myself.  Am  I,  who  am 
but  of  an  equestrian  and  provincial  family,  numbered  among  the  chief 
men  of  Rome?  Among  nobles  who  can  show  a  long  succession  of 
glories,  has  my  new  name  become  famous  ?  Where  is  the  mind  once 
content  with  an  huml^le  lot?  Is  this  the  man  who  is  building  up  his 
garden  terraces,  who  paces  grandly  through  the  suburban  parks,  and 
revels  in  the  affluence  of  such  broad  lands  and  such  widely  spread  in- 
vestments ?  Only  one  apology  occurs  to  me,  that  it  would  not  have 
been  right  in  me  to  have  thwarted  your  bounty. 

"  And  yet  we  have  both  filled  up  our  respective  measures,  you  in  giving 
as  much  as  a  prince  can  bestow  on  a  friend,  and  I  in  receiving  as  much 
as  a  friend  can  receive  from  a  prince.  All  else  only  fosters  envy,  which, 
like  all  things  human,  sinks  powerless  beneath  your  greatness,  though 
on  me  it  weighs  heavily.  To  me  relief  is  a  necessity.  Just  as  I  should 
implore  support  if  exhausted  by  warfare  or  travel,  so  in  this  journey  of 
life,  old  as  I  am  and  unequal  even  to  the  lightest  cares,  since  I  cannot 
any  longer  bear  the  burden  of  my  wealth,  I  crave  assistance.  Order 
my  property  to  be  managed  by  your  agents  and  to  be  included  in  your 
estate.  Still  I  shall  not  sink  myself  into  poverty,  but  having  surrendered 
5 


9 8  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

the  splendors  which  dazzle  me,  I  will  henceforth  again  devote  to  my 
mind  all  the  leisure  and  attention  now  resei"ved  for  my  gardens  and  country 
houses.  You  have  yet  before  you  a  vigorous  prime,  and  that  on  which 
for  so  many  years  your  eyes  were  fixed,  supreme  power.  We,  your 
older  friends,  can  answer  for  our  quiet  behavior.  It  will  likewise  re- 
dound to  your  honor  that  you  have  raised  to  the  highest  places  men 
who  could  also  bear  moderate  fortune." 

Nero's  reply  was  substantially  this  :  "  My  being  able  to  meet  your 
elaborate  speech  with  an  instant  rejoinder  is,  I  consider,  primarily  your 
gift,  for  you  taught  me  how  to  express  myself  not  only  after  reflection 
but  at  a  moment's  notice.  My  great  grandfather  Augustus  allowed 
Agrippa  and  Mfficenas  to  enjoy  rest  after  their  labors,  but  he  did  it  at  an 
age  carrying  with  it  an  authority  sufficient  to  justify  any  boon,  of  any 
sort,  he  might  have  bestowed.  But  neither  of  them  did  he  strip  of  the 
rewards  he  had  given.  It  was  by  war  and  its  perils  they  had  earned 
them  ;  for  in  these  the  youth  of  Augustus  was  spent.  And  if  I  had 
passed  my  years  in  arms,  your  sword  and  right  hand  would  not  have 
failed  me.  But,  as  my  actual  condition  required,  you  watched  over  my 
boyhood,  then  over  my  youth,  with  wisdom,  counsel,  and  advice.  And 
indeed  your  gifts  to  me  will,  as  long  as  life  holds  out,  be  lasting  posses- 
sions ;  those  which  you  owe  to  me,  your  parks,  investments,  your  country 
houses,  are  liable  to  accidents.  Though  they  seem  much,  many  far  in- 
ferior to  you  in  merit  have  obtained  more.  I  am  ashamed  to  quote  the 
names  of  freedmen  who  parade  a  greater  wealth.  Hence  I  actually 
blush  to  think  that,  standing  as  you  do  at  first  in  my  affections,  you  do 
not  as  yet  surpass  all  in  fortune. 

"  Yours  too  is  still  a  vigorous  manhood, quite  equal  to  the  labors  of  busi- 
ness and  to  the  fruit  of  those  labors  ;  and,  as  for  myself,  I  am  but  tread- 
ing the  threshold  of  empire.  But  perhaps  you  count  yourself  inferior  to 
Vitellius,  thrice  a  consul,  and  me  to  Claudius.  Such  wealth  as  long  thrift 
has  procured  for  Volusius,  my  bounty,  you  think,  cannot  fully  make  up 
to  you.  Why  not  rather,  if  the  frailty  of  my  youth  goes  in  any  respect 
astray,  call  me  back  and  guide  yet  more  zealously  with  your  help  the 
manhood  which  you  have  instructed?  It  will  not  be  your  moderation, 
if  you  restore  me  your  wealth,  not  your  love  of  quiet,  if  you  forsake  your 
emperor,  but  my  avarice,  the  fear  of  my  cruelty,  which  will  be  in  all 
men's  moutiis.  Even  if  your  self-control  were  praised  to  the  utmost,  still 
it  would  not  be  seemly  in  a  wise  man  to  get  glory  for  himself  in  the  very 
act  of  bringing  disgrace  on  his  friend." 

To  tliese  words  the  emperor  added  embraces  and  kisses  ;  for  he  was 
formed  by  nature  and  trained  by  habit  to  veil  his  hatred  under  delusive 


Tacitus.  99 

flattery.  Seneca  thanked  him,  the  usual  end  of  an  interview  with  a 
despot.  But  he  entirely  altered  the  practices  of  his  former  greatness  ; 
he  kept  the  crowds  of  his  visitors  at  a  distance,  avoided  trains  of  follow- 
ers, seldom  appeared  in  Rome,  as  though  weak  health  or  philosophical 
studies  detained  him  at  home. 

It  is  quite  impossible,  within  the  space  at  our  command, 
to  make  anything  like  an  adequate  impression  of  the  dread- 
ful and  shameful  tragedy  that  drags  itself  interminably  along, 
through  all  the  pages  of  Tacitus  that  tell  the  story  of  Nero. 
Shame  after  shame,  crime  after  crime,  file  before  your  eyes 
in  ghastly  procession.  You  shudder,  but  you  are  fascinated 
to  gaze. 

Marie  Antoinette  had  in  some  respects  her  ancient  coun- 
terpart in  Octavia,  the  fair  young  wife  of  Nero.  Poppasa 
was  intolerant  of  any  rival  to  her  claim  of  absolute  power 
over  the  emperor.  Octavia  must  be  driven  from  Nero's 
side,  that  Poppaea  may  marry  him.  For  tliis  purpose,  an  in- 
famous accusation  of  intrigue  on  her  part  with  a  slave,  is 
brought  against  Octavia.  Her  slave-girls  were  tortured  to 
make  them  swear  against  their  mistress.  But  one  of  them 
bravely  swore  that  her  mistress's  person  was  purer  than 
the  mouth  of  the  man  who  accused  her.  Octavia  could  not 
be  condemned ;  but  the  emperor  could  divorce  her.  Di- 
vorced she  was,  and  banished.  The  common  people  mut- 
tered dangerously  in  her  favor,  and  the  coward  tyrant  was 
fain  to  take  her  back.  But  the  populace  proved  imprudent 
friends  to  Octavia.  They  flung  down  the  statues  of  Poppaea 
and  decked  the  images  of  the  empress.  They  even  rioted  into 
the  palace,  with  menacing  shouts  of  joy.  The  soldiers  dis- 
persed them  thence.  But  the  popular  triumph  had  already 
been  carried  too  far.     The  reaction  was  fatal  to  Octavia. 

A  new  crime  was  charged  upon  her.  The  emperor  sum- 
moned Anicetus,  the  man  that  before  had  helped  make  away 
with  his  mother,  and  suborned  him  to  confess  an  intrigue  with 
Octavia.     He  should  be  secured  from  evil  consequence  and 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


be  well  rewarded  ;  if  he  refused,  he  should  die.  Anicetus 
was  not  wanting  to  the  emperor's  wish.  Tacitus,  with  that 
condensed  pessimistic  sarcasm  of  his,  simply  adds  :  "  He 
[Anicetus]  was  then  banished  to  Sardinia,  where  he  endured 
exile  without  poverty  and  died  a  natural  death."  One  is  re- 
minded of  Juvenal's  kindred  remark  concerning  an  infamous 
exile,  prospering  in  spite  of  his  crimes,  that  he  "  basked  in 
the  wrath  of  heaven." 

Octavia  was  branded  adulteress  by  the  false  husband's  own 
perjury,  and  sent  in  exile  to  an  obscure  island.  Tacitus, 
with  noble  restrained  pathos,  says  : 

No  exile  ever  filled  the  eyes  of  beholders  with  tears  of  greater  com- 
passion. Some  still  lememhered  Agrippina,  banished  by  Tiberius,  and 
the  yet  fresher  memory  of  Julia,  whom  Claudius  exiled,  was  present  to 
men's  thoughts.  But  they  had  life's  prime  for  their  stay  ;  they  had  seen 
some  happiness,  and  the  horror  of  the  moment  was  alleviated  by  recol- 
lections of  a  better  lot  in  the  past.  For  Octavia,  from  the  first,  her  mar- 
riage-day was  a  kind  of  funeral,  brought,  as  she  was,  into  a  house 
where  she  had  nothing  but  scenes  of  mourning,  her  father  and,  an  in- 
stant aftenvard,  her  brother,  having  been  snatched  from  her  by  poison  ; 
then,  a  slave-girl  raised  aljove  the  mistress  ;  Poppasa  married  only  to  in- 
sure a  wife's  ruin,  and,  to  end  all,  an  accusation  more  horrible  than  any 
death. 


The  brief  sequel  is  unspeakably  sad  : 

And  now  the  girl,  in  her  twentieth  year,  with  centurions  and  soldiers 
around  her,  already  removed  from  among  the  living  by 
tlie  forecast  of  doom,  still  could  not  reconcile  herself  to 
death.  After  an  interval  of  a  few  days  she  received  an 
order  that  she  was  to  die,  although  she  protested  that  she 
'  was  now  a  widow  and  only  a  sister,  and  appealed  to 
their  common  ancestors,  the  Germanici,  and  finally  to  the 
name  of  Agrippina,  during  whose  life  she  had  endured  a 
marriage,  which  was  miserable  enough  indeed,  but  not 
fatal.  She  was  then  tightly  bound  with  cords,  and  the 
veins  of  every  limb  were  opened;  but  as  her  blood  was 
congealed  by  terror  and  flowed  too  slowly,  she  was  killed 
outright  by  the  steam  of  an  intensely  hot  bath.     To  this  was  added  the 


Tacitus.  I  o  I 

yet  more  appalling  horror  of  Popprea  beholding  the  severed  head  which 
was  conveyed  to  Rome. 

If  there  were  wanting  anj^  tiling  to  complete  the  shame  and 
horror  of  such  deeds,  the  servile  senate  supplied  the  defi- 
ciency. Tacitus,  now,  speaking  with  a  scorn  too  scornful  to 
condescend  to  express  itself  explicitly  : 

And  for  all  this  offerings  were  voted  to  the  temples.  I  record  the 
fact  with  a  special  object.  Whoever  would  study  the  calamities  of 
that  period  in  my  pages  or  those  of  other  authors,  is  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  as  often  as  the  emperor  directed  banishments  or  executions,  so  often 
was  there  a  thanksgiving  to  the  gods,  and  what  formerly  commemorated 
some  prosperous  event,  was  then  a  token  of  public  disaster.  Still,  if  any 
decree  of  the  Senate  was  marked  by  some  new  flattery,  or  by  the  lowest 
servility,  I  shall  not  pass  it  over  in  silence. 

Foils  to  the  indescribable  baseness  of  the  senate,  and  re- 
liefs to  the  indescribable  depravity  of  the  emperor,  are  pro- 
vided by  Tacitus,  not  only  in  the  names  of  Burrus  and  Sen- 
eca, but  also  in  the  name  of  now  and  then  a  solitary  ex- 
ample of  surviving  Roman  virtue,  like  Memmius,  Reg'u-lus, 
Thra-se'a.  The  whole  effect  resulting  is  scarcely  more  than  to 
deepen  a  little  the  dark  of  the  picture  by  contrast  of  bright. 
Corbulo  likewise  moves  with  the  air  of  antique  Roman 
grandeur,  through  that  part  of  the  imperial  drama  which 
meantime  is  enacted  in  the  East.  The  reverberation  of  his 
wars  reaches  Rome  like  the  sound  of  "  thunder  heard  re- 
mote." We  have  no  space  in  these  pages  to  introduce  the 
nobler  background  against  which,  on  the  canvas  of  Tacitus, 
Nero's  effeminacy  and  depravity  show  conspicuous  with  a 
shame  the  more  fatal  to  his  memory.  But  consider  in  mercy 
— what  boy  ever  came  to  "  that  heritage  of  woe,"  supreme  des- 
potic power,  under  auspices  blacker  than  those  which  frowned 
on  the  youth  of  this  imperial  wretch? 

The  following  extract  from  Tacitus  will  indicate  what  ex- 
pedients of  legislation  were  adopted  to  encourage  among 
degenerate  Romans  the  propagation  of  children,  for  the  re- 


CoIIesre  Latin  Course  in  Ein^Ush. 


JLivenating  and  strengthening  of  the  enfeebled  state;  and 
what  tricks,  too,  of  private  practice  were  resorted  to  for  eva- 
sion of  the  laws  : 

A  very  demoralizing  custom  liad  at  tliis  time  become  rife,  of  fictitious 
adoptions  of  children,  on  the  eve  of  the  elections  or  of  the  assignment  of 
the  provinces,, by  a  number  of  childless  persons,  who,  after  obtaining 
along  with  real  fathers  praetorships  and  provinces,  forthwith  dismissed 
from  paternal  control  the  sons  whom  they  had  adopted.  An  appeal  was 
made  to  the  Senate  under  a  keen  sense  of  wrong.  Parents  pleaded 
natural  rights  and  the  anxieties  of  nurture  against  fraudulent  evasions 
and  the  brief  ceremony  of  adoption.  "  It  was,"  they  argued,  "suffi- 
cient reward  for  the  childless  to  have  influence  and  distinction,  every 
thing,  in  short,  easy  and  open  to  them,  without  a  care  and  without  a 
burden.  For  themselves,  they  found  that  the  promises  held  out  by  the 
laws,  for  which  they  had  long  waited,  were  turned  into  mockery,  when 
one  who  knew  nothing  of  a  parent's  solicitude  or  of  the  sorrows  of  be- 
reavement could  rise  in  a  moment  to  the  level  of  a  father's  long  deferred 
hopes." 

On  this,  a  decree  of  the  Senate  was  passed  that  a  fictitious  adoption 
should  be  of  no  avail  in  any  department  of  the  public  service,  or  even 
hold  good  for  acquiring  an  inheritance. 

The  destruction  of  Pom-pei'i  is  thus  briefly  narrated  : 

An  earthquake  too  demolished  a  large  part  of  Pompeii,  a  populous 
town  in  Campania. 

Nero  had  a  daughter  born  to  him  by  Poppasa.  The  little 
creature's  life  happily  was  brief,  but  the  eager  servility  of  the 
senate,  and  the  drunken  pride  of  the  despot,  alike  at  her 
birth  and  at  her  death,  appear  in  strong  colors.     Tacitus  : 

The  place  of  Poppasa's  confinement  was  the  colony  of  Antium,  where 
the  emperor  himself  was  born.  Already  had  the  Senate  commended 
Poppoea's  safety  to  the  gods,  and  had  made  vows  in  the  State's  name,  which 
were  repeated  again  and  again  and  duly  discharged.  To  tliese  was 
added  a  public  thanksgiving,  and  a  temple  was  decreed  to  the  goddess  of 
fecundity,  as  well  as  games  and  contests  after  the  type  of  the  ceremo- 
nies commemorative  of  Actium,  and  golden  images  of  the  two  Fortunes 
were  to  be  set  up  on  the  tlirone  of  Jupiter  of  the  Capitol.  Shows  too  of 
the  circus  were  to  be  exhibited  in  honor  of  the  Claudian  and  Domitian 


Tacitus.  103 

families  at  Antium,  like  those  at  Bo-vil'lse  in  commemoration  of  the  Ju'li-i. 
Transient  distinctions  all  of  thorn,  as  within  four  months  the  infant 
died.  Again  there  was  an  outburst  of  flattery,  men  voting  the  honors  of 
deification,  of  a  shrine,  a  temple,  and  a  priest. 

The  emperor,  too,  was  as  excessive  in  his  grief  as  he  had  been  in  his 
joy.  It  was  observed  that  when  all  the  Senate  rushed  out  to  Antium  to 
honor  the  recent  birth,  Thrasea  was  forbidden  to  go,  and  received  with 
fearless  spirit  an  affront  which  foreboded  his  doom.  Then  followed, 
as  rumor  says,  an  expression  from  the  emperor,  in  which  he  boasted 
to  Seneca  of  his  reconciliation  with  Thrasea,  on  which  Seneca  con- 
gratulated him.  And  now  henceforth  the  glory  and  the  peril  of  these 
illustrious  men  grew  greater. 

There  still  recur  at  intervals  those  interludes  of  distant 
thunder  muttered  on  the  frontier  of  the  empire,  in  the  war- 
like operations  of  Corbulo.  Frequently  the  eye  is  caught 
with  dense  and  weighty  sayings  of  the  historian,  which  the 
temptation  is  great  to  transfer  to  these  pages.  But  the  effect 
would  be,  of  course,  much  impaired  by  removal  from  the 
setting  in  which  they  originally  appear.  Of  Corbulo's  man- 
ner in  public  discourse  Tacitus — himself,  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, of  the  highest  repute  as  an  orator — says,  "  He  spoke 
with  much  impressiveness,  which  in  him,  as  a  military  man, 
was  as  good  as  eloquence."  Macaulay  might  have  said  that 
of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

Nero  took  the  pleasures  of  empire  with  a  boyish  delight 
that  was  not  far  off  from  malignity.  It  was  perhaps  an  emo- 
tion as  much  malicious  as  insane,  the  gratification  he  expe- 
rienced in  making  the  proud  patricians  of  Rome  applaud 
hiui  while  he  disgraced  himself  in  their  eyes  by  appearing, 
in  private  and  in  public,  as  a  singer.  But  even  Nero  ex- 
ercised his  caution,  in  trying  what  the  Roman  public  would 
bear  in  their  emperor.  It  was  now  the  year  64,  and  Nero 
was  a  young  fellow  of  about  twenty-six.     Tacitus  : 

A  yet  keener  impulse  urged  Nero  to  show  himself  frequently  on  the 
public  stage.  Hitherto  he  had  sung  in  private  houses  or  gardens,  dur- 
ing the  Juvenile  games,  but  these  he  now  despised,  as  being  but  little 


I04  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

frequented,  and  on  too  small  a  scale  for  so  fine  a  voice.  As,  however, 
he  did  not  venture  to  make  a  beginning  at  Rome,  he  chose  Neapolis, 
because  it  was  a  Greek  city.  From  this  as  his  starting-point  he  might 
cross  into  Achaia,  and  there,  winning  the  well  known  and  sacred  gar- 
lands of  antiquity,  evoke,  with  increased  fame,  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
citizens. 

But  Tacitus  says  of  Nero,  that  "even  amid  his  pleasures 
tliere  was  no  cessation  to  his  crimes."  It  is  only  because 
the  limits  of  our  space  forbid,  that  we  omit  to  tell  how  in- 
stance after  instance  occurs  of  Romans  the  most  conspicu- 
ous for  virtue  forced  under  imperial  pressure  to  make  away 
with  themselves  by  suicide — the  preferred  method  of  which 
suicide  was  to  open  the  veins,  or  the  arteries,  and  bleed  to 
death. 

Here  is  something  told  whose  very  incredibleness  vouches 
for  its  reality.  For,  had  it  not  actually  occurred,  how  could 
an  historian  like  Tacitus  have  related  it.?  The  horror  of 
it  will  be  an  antiseptic  to  its  impurity.  It  may  most  appro- 
priately be  read  by  each  reader  alone  : 

Nero,  to  win  credit  for  himself  of  enjoying  nothing  so  much  as  the 
capital,  prepared  banquets  in  the  public  places,  and  used  the  whole  city, 
so  to  say,  as  his  private  house.  Of  these  entertainments  the  most  famous 
for  their  notorious  profligacy  were  those  furnished  by  Tig-el-li'nus,  which 
I  will  describe  as  an  illustration,  that  I  may  not  have  again  and  again  to 
narrate  similar  extravagance.  He  had  a  raft  constructed  on  Agrippa's 
lake,  put  the  guests  on  board  and  set  it  in  motion  by  other  vessels  tow- 
ing ii.  These  vessels  glittered  with  gold  and  ivory  ;  the  crews  were 
arranged  according  to  age  and  experience  in  vice.  Birds  and  beasts 
had  been  procured  from  remote  countries,  and  sea  monsters  from  the 
ocean.  On  the  margin  of  the  lake  were  set  up  brothels  crowded  with 
noble  ladies,  and  on  the  opposite  bank  were  seen  naked  prostitutes  with 
obscene  gestures  and  movements.  As  darkness  approached,  all  the  ad- 
jacent grove  and  surrounding  buildings  resounded  with  song  and  shone 
brilliantly  with  lights.  Nero,  who  polluted  himself  by  every  lawful  or 
lawless  indulgence,  had  not  omitted  a  single  abomination  which  could 
heighten  his  depravity,  till  a  few  days  afterward  he  stooped  to  marry 
himself  to  one  of  that  filthy  herd,  by  name  Pythagoras,  with  all  the  forms 
of  regular  wedlock.     The  bridal  veil  was  put  over  the  emperor ;  people 


Tacitus.  105 

saw  the  witnesses  of  the  ceremony,  the  wedding  dower,  the  couch  and 
tlie  nuptial  torches  ;  every  thing,  in  a  word,  was  plainly  visible,  which, 
even  when  a  woman  weds,  darkness  hides. 

And   now   follows  the  famous    infamy  of  the  burning  of 
Rome  under  Nero,  with  its  horrible  sequel: 

A  disaster  followed,  whether  accidental  or  treacherously  contrived  by 
the  emperor,  is  uncertain,  as  authors  have  given  both  accounts,  worse, 
however,  and  more  dreadful  than  any  which  have  ever  happened  to  this 
city  by  the  violence  of  fire.  It  had  its  beginning  in  that  part  of  the  circus 
which  adjoins  the  Palatine  and  Caslian  hills,  where,  amid  the  shops  con- 
taining inflammable  wares,  the  conflagration  both  broke  out  and  in- 
stantly became  so  fierce  and  so  rapid  from  the  wind  that  it  seized  in  its 
grasp  the  entire  length  of  the  circus.  For  here  there  were  no  houses 
fenced  in  by  solid  masonry,  or  temples  surrounded  by  walls,  or  any  other 
obstacle  to  interpose  delay.  The  blaze  in  its  fury  ran  first  through  the 
level  portions  of  the  city,  then  rising  to  the  hills,  while  it  again  devas- 
tated every  place  below  them,  it  outstripped  all  preventive  measures ; 
so  rapid  was  the  mischief  and  so  completely  at  its  mercy  the  city,  with 
those  narrow  winding  passages  and  irregular  streets,  which  character- 
ized old  Rome.  Added  to  this  were  the  wailings  of  terror-stricken 
women,  the  feebleness  of  age,  the  helpless  inexperience  of  childhood, 
the  crowds  who  souglit  to  save  themselves  and  others,  dragging  out  tlie 
infirm  or  waiting  for  them,  and  by  their  hurry  in  the  one  case,  by  their 
delay  in  the  other,  aggravating  the  confusion.  Oflen,  while  they  looked 
behind  them,  they  were  intercepted  by  flames  on  their  side  or  in  their 
face.  Or  if  they  reached  a  refuge  close  at  hand,  when  this  too  was 
seized  by  the  fire,  they  found,  that  even  places  which  they  had  imagined 
to  be  remote,  were  involved  in  the  same  calamity.  At  last,  doubting 
what  they  should  avoid  or  whither  betake  themselves,  they  crowded  the 
streets  or  flung  themselves  down  in  the  fields,  Avhile  some  who  had 
lost  their  all,  even  their  very  daily  bread,  and  others  out  of  love  for  their 
kinsfolk,  whom  they  had  been  unable  to  rescue,  perished,  though  escape 
was  open  to  them.  And  no  one  dared  to  stop  the  mischief,  because  of 
incessant  menaces  from  a  number  of  persons  who  forbade  the  extin- 
guishing of  the  flames,  because  again  others  openly  hurled  brands,  and 
kept  shouting  that  there  was  one  who  gave  them  authority,  cither  seek- 
ing to  plunder  more  freely,  or  obeying  orders. 

Nero  at  this  time  was  at  Antium,  and  did  not  return  to  Rome  until 
the  fire  approached  his  house,  which  he  had  built  to  connect  the  palace 
with  the  gardens  of  Maecenas.  It  could  not,  however,  be  stopped  from 
5* 


io6  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


devouring  the  palace,  the  house,  and  every  thing  around  it.  However, 
to  relieve  the  people,  driven  out  homeless  as  they  were,  he  threw  open 
to  them  the  Campus  Martius  and  the  public  buildings  of  Agrippa,  and 
even  his  own  gardens,  and  raised  temporary  structures  to  receive  the 
destitute  multitude.  Supplies  of  food  were  brought  up  from  Ostia  and 
the  neighboring  towns,  and  the  price  of  corn  was  reduced  to  three 
sesterces  a  peck.  These  acts,  though  popular,  produced  no  effect,  since 
a  rumor  had  gone  forth  every-where  that,  at  the  very  time  that  the  city 
was  in  flames,  the  emperor  appeared  on  a  private  stage  and  sang  of  the 
destruction  of  Troy,  comparing  present  misfortunes  with  th^  calamities 
of  antiquity. 

At  last,  after  five  days,  an  end  was  put  to  the  conflagration  at  the  foot 
of  the  Esquiline  hill,  by  the  destruction  of  all  buildings  on  a  vast  space,  so 
that  the  violence  of  the  fire  was  met  by  clear  ground  and  open  sky. 
But  before  people  had  laid  aside  their  fears,  the  flames  returned,  with 
no  less  fury  this  second  time,  and  especially  in  the  spacious  districts  of 
the  city.  Consequently,  though  there  was  less  loss  of  life,  the  temples 
of  the  gods,  and  the  porticoes  which  were  devoted  to  enjoyment,  fell  in 
a  yet  more  wide-spread  ruin.  And  to  this  conflagration  there  attached 
the  greater  infamy  because  it  broke  out  on  the  ^milian  property  of 
Tigellinus,  and  it  seemed  that  Nero  was  aiming  at  the  glory  of  found- 
ing a  new  city  and  calling  it  by  his  name.  Rome,  indeed,  is  divided 
into  fourteen  districts,  four  of  which  remained  uninjured,  three  were 
leveled  to  the  ground,  while  in  the  other  seven  were  left  only  a  few 
shattered,  half-burnt  relics  of  houses. 

Tacitus  relates  that  Nero  "availed  himself  of  his  country's 
desolation,  and  erected  a  mansion  in  which  the  jewels  and 
gold,  long  familiar  objects,  quite  vulgarized  by  our  extrava- 
gance, were  not  so  marvelous  as  the  fields  and  lakes,  with 
woods  on  one  side  to  resemble  a  wilderness,  and,  on  the 
other,  open  spaces  and  extensive  views."  Many  audacious 
public  works  were  undertaken,  some  of  them  in  absolute  de- 
fiance of  the  laws  of  nature.  The  city  was  splendidly  re- 
built, and  the  gods  were  elaborately  propitiated — in  vain. 
Tacitus  says — and  here  occurs  the  sole  mention  deemed 
necessary  by  the  historian  to  be  made,  of  a  certain  religious 
sect,  destined,  however  little  he  dreamed  it,  to  multiply,  and 
to  endure,  untold  centuries  after  that  imperial  Rome  of  which 


Tacitus. 


107 


he  wrote  should  have  become  a  name  and  a  memory —  Taci- 
tus says  : 

All  human  efforts,  all  the  lavish  gifts  of  the  emperor,  and  the  propitia- 
tions of  the  gods,  did  not  banish  the  sinister  belief  that  the  conflagration 
was  the  result  of  an  order.  Consequently,  to  get  rid  of  the  report,  Nero 
fastened  the  guilt  and  inflicted  the  most  exquisite  tortures  on  a  class 
hated  for  their  abominations,  called  Christians  by  the  populace.  Chris- 
tus,  from  whom  the  name  had  its  origin,  suffered  the  extreme  penalty 
during  the  reign  of  Tiberius  at  the  hands  of  one  of  our  procurators, 
Pon'ti-us  Pi-la'tus,  and  a  most  mischievous  superstition,  thus  checked  for 
the  moment,  again  broke  out  not  only  in  Judsea,  the  first  source  of  the 
evil,  but  even  in  Rome,  where  all  things  hideous  and  shameful  from 
every  part  of  the  world  find  their  center  and  become  popular.  Accord- 
ingly, an  arrest  was  first  made  of  all  who  pleaded  guilty  ;  then,  upon 
their  information,  an  immense  multitude  was  convicted,  not  so  much  of 
the  crime  of  firing  the  city,  as  of  hatred  against  mankind.  Mockery  of 
every  sort  was  added  to  their  deaths.  Covered  with  the  skins  of  beasts, 
they  were  torn  by  dogs  and  perished,  or  were  nailed  to  crosses,  or  were 
doomed  to  the  flames  and  burnt,  to  serve  as  a  nightly  illumination, 
when  daylight  had  exjjired. 

Nero  offered  his  gardens  for  the  spectacle,  and  was  exhibiting  a  show 
in  the  circus,  while  he  mingled  with  the  jieople  in  the  dress  of  a  chari- 
oteer or  stood  aloft  on  a  car.  Hence,  even  for  criminals  who  deserved 
extreme  and  exemplary  puni.->hment,  there  arose  a  feeling  of  compas- 
sion ;  for  it  was  not,  as  it  seemed,  for  the  public  good,  but  to  glut  one 
man's  cruelly,  that  they  were  being  destroyed. 

The  woild  now  was  ransacked  and  plundered  to  glut  the 
passion  of  the  emperor  for  profuse  expenditure.  The  tem- 
ples of  the  gods  did  not  escape.  Seneca  felt  that  his  own 
person  was  in  danger,  should  he  stick  at  committing  sacri- 
lege at  tlie  beck  of  the  emperor.  He,  therefore — "it  was 
said,"  as  Tacitus  cautiously  relates  it — : 

To  avert  from  himself  the  obloquy  of  sacrilege,  begged  for  the  seclu- 
sion of  a  remote  rural  retreat,  and,  when  it  was  refused,  feigning  ill 
health,  as  though  he  had  a  nervous  ailment,  would  not  quit  his  chamber. 
According  to  some  writers,  poison  was  prepared  for  him  at  Nero's  com- 
mand by  his  own  freedman,  whose  name  was  Cleonnicus.  This  .Seneca 
avoided  through  the  freedman's   disclosure,   or   his  own  apprehension, 


io8  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

while  he  used  to  support  life  on  the  very  simple  diet  of  wild  fruits,  with 
water  from  a  running  stream  when  thirst  prompted. 

Wantonness  of  despotism,  such  as  Nero's,  could  not  but 
provoke  conspiracy  against  the  despot.  Tacitus  gives  a  cir- 
cumstantial account  of  a  plot  which,  having  gone  near  to 
success,  failed,  at  the  critical  point,  through  the  perfidy  of  a 
freedman.  The  fidelity  unto  death  of  a  freedwoman  affords 
a  striking  contrast.  Tacitus  thus  admiringly  describes  this 
woman's  conduct : 

Nero,  meanwhile,  remembering  that  E-pich'a-ris  was  in  custody  on  the 
information  of  Vo-lu'si-us  Proc'u-lus,  and  assuming  that  a  woman's  frame 
must  be  unequal  to  the  agony,  ordered  her  to  be  lorn  on  the  rack.  But 
neither  the  scourge  nor  fire,  nor  the  fury  of  the  men  as  they  increased  the 
torture  that  they  might  not  be  a  woman's  scorn,  overcame  her  positive 
denial  of  the  charge.  Thus  the  first  day's  inquiry  was  futile.  On  the 
morrow,  as  she  was  being  dragged  back  on  a  chair  to  the  same  torments 
(for  with  her  limbs  all  dislocated  she  could  not  stand),  she  tied  a  band, 
which  she  had  stript  off  her  bosom,  in  a  sort  of  noose  to  the  arched  back 
of  the  chair,  put  her  neck  in  it,  and  then  straining  with  the  whole  weight 
of  her  body,  wrung  out  of  her  frame  its  little  remaining  breath.  All  the 
nobler  was  the  example  set  by  a  freedwoman  at  such  a  crisis  in  screening 
strangers  and  those  whom  she  hardly  knew,  when  freeborn  men,  Ro- 
man knights,  and  senators,  yet  unscathed  by  torture,  betrayed,  every  one, 
his  dearest  kinsfolk. 

Following  the  exposure  of  the  plot,  comes  a  sickening  list 
of  horrors  in  revenge,  enacted  under  order  of  Nero.  These 
involve  the  doom,  now  no  longer  to  be  postponed,  of  Seneca, 
the  philosopher.  Seneca  was  not  a  convicted  conspirator. 
He  was,  perhaps,  not  even  seriously  suspected  of  conspiring. 
But  Nero  hated  him,  and  would  at  all  cost  be  rid  of  him. 
Seneca  was  reported  to  have  said,  ambiguously  and  darkly, 
concerning  a  man  involved  in  the  plot :  "  I  will  not  talk  with 
him,  but  my  own  safety  is  bound  up  in  his."  This  was 
enough.  Seneca  was  given  the  opportunity,  at  his  option, 
to  acknowledge  or  to  repudiate  the  language  attributed  to 
him.     He  answered  proudly  and  bravely.     Nero,  on  receiv- 


Tacitus. 


109 


ing  the  report  of  his  answer,  asked,  "  Is  he  meditating  sui- 
cide ?  "  The  officer  said  he  saw  in  Seneca  no  signs  of  fear 
and  no  signs  of  low  spirits.  He  was  bidden  go  back  and  tell 
Seneca  to  make  away  with  himself.     Now  Tacitus  : 

Seneca,  quite  unmoved,  asked  for  tablets  on  which  to  inscribe  his 
will,  and,  on  the  centurion's  refusal,  turned  to  his  friends,  protesting 
that  as  he  was  forbidden  to  requite  them,  he  bequeathed  to  them  the 
only,  but  still  the  noblest,  possession  yet  remaining  to  him,  the  pattern 
of  his  life,  which,  if  they  remembered,  they  would  win  a  name  for  moral 
worth  and  steadfast  friendship.  At  the  same  time  [braced,  beyond  doubt, 
by  the  remembered  example  of  Socrates],  he  called  them  back  from  their 
tears  to  manly  resolution,  now  witii  friendly  talk,  and  now  with  the 
sterner  language  of  rebuke.  "  Where,"  he  asked  again  and  again,  "  are 
your  maxims  of  philosophy,  or  the  preparation  of  so  many  years'  study 
against  evils  to  come ?  Who  knew  not  Nero's  cruelty?  After  a  moth- 
er's and  a  brother's  murder,  nothing  remains  but  to  add  the  destruction 
of  a  guardian  and  a  tutor." 

Having  spoken  tliese  and  like  words,  meant,  so  to  say,  for  all,  he  em- 
braced his  wife  ;  then  softening  awhile  from  the  stern  resolution  of  the 
hour,  he  begged  and  implored  her  to  spare  herself  the  burden  of  per- 
petual sorrow,  and,  in  the  contemplation  of  a  life  virtuously  spent,  to 
endure  a  husband's  loss  with  honorable  consolations.  She  declared,  in 
answer,  that  she  too  had  decided  to  die,  and  claimed  for  herself  the 
blow  of  the  executioner.  Thereupon  Seneca,  not  to  thwart  her  noble 
ambition,  from  an  affection  too  which  would  not  leave  behind  him  for 
insult  one  whom  he  dearly  loved,  replied  :  "  I  have  shown  you  ways  of 
smoothing  life  ;  you  prefer  the  glory  of  dying.  I  will  not  grudge  you 
such  a  noble  example.  Let  the  fortitude  of  so  courageous  an  end 
be  alike  in  both  of  us,  but  let  there  be  more  in  your  decease  to  win 
fame." 

Then  by  one  and  the  same  stroke  they  sundered  with  a  dagger  the 
arteries  of  their  arms.  Seneca,  as  his  aged  frame,  attenuated  by  frugal 
diet,  allowed  the  blood  to  escape  but  slowly,  severed  also  the  veins  of 
his  legs  and  knees.  Worn  out  by  cruel  anguish,  afraid  too  that  his 
sufferings  might  break  his  wife's  spirit,  and  that,  as  he  looked  on  her 
tortures,  he  might  himself  sink  into  irresolution,  he  persuaded  her  to 
retire  into  another  chamber.  Even  at  the  last  moment  his  eloquence 
failed  him  not ;  he  summoned  his  secretaries,  and  dictated  much  to 
them  which,  as  it  has  been  published  for  all  readers  in  his  own  words,  I 
forbear  to  paraphrase. 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


Seneca's  wife  was  not  thus  to  die  with  her  husband.  She 
must  survive  him;  and  must  so  incur  a  reaction  of  suspicion 
against  herself,  that  will  cloud  the  fame  of  her  courage. 
Nero,  not  hating  her,  and  not  wishing  to  aggravate  with  the 
people  the  odium  of  his  cruelty,  forbade  her  to  die.     Tacitus 


At  the  soldiers'  prompting,  her  slaves  and  freedmen  bound  up  her  arms, 
and  stanched  the  bleeding,  whether  with  lier  knowledge  is  doubtful. 
For  as  the  vulgar  are  ever  ready  to  think  the  worst,  there  were  persons 
who  believed  that,  as  long  as  she  dreaded  Nero's  relentlessness,  she 
sought  the  glory  of  sharing  her  husband's  death,  but  that  after  a  time, 
when  a  more  soothing  prospect  presented  itself,  she  yielded  to  the 
charms  of  life.  To  this  she  added  a  few  subsequent  years,  with  a  most 
praiseworthy  remembrance  of  her  husband,  and  with  a  countenance  and 
frame  white  to  a  degree  of  pallor  which  denoted  a  loss  of  much  vital 
energy. 

The  historian  returns  to  finish  the  slow  suicide  of  Seneca  : 

Seneca  meantime,  as  the  tedious  process  of  death  still  lingered  on, 
begged  Sta'ti-us  An-noe'us,  whom  he  had  long  esteemed  for  his  faithful 
friendship  and  medical  skill,  to  produce  a 
poison  with  wjiich  he  had  some  time  before 
provided  himself,  the  same  drug  which  ex- 
tinguislied  the  lile  of  those  wlio  were  con- 
demned by  a  public  sentence  of  the  people 
of  Athens.  It  was  brought  to  him  and  he 
drank  it  in  vain,  chilled  as  he  was  through- 
out his  limbs,  and  his  frame  closed  against 
the  efficacy  of  the  poison.  At  last  he  en- 
tered a  pool  of  heated  water,  from  wliich 
he  sprinkled  the  nearest  of  his  slaves,  adding 
tlie  exclamation,  "  I  offer  this  liquid  as  a  li- 
si:neca.  bation  to  Jupiter  tlie  Deliverer."     He  was 

then  carried  into  a  bnth,  with  tlie  steam  of  which  he  was  suffocated, 
and  he  was  burned  without  any  of  the  usual  funeral  rites.  So  he  liad 
directed  in  a  codicil  of  liis  will,  when  even  in  the  height  of  his  wealth 
and  power  he  was  lliinkiiig  of  his  life's  close. 

Rumor  could  not  fail  to  breed  plentifully   in   the   teeming 
ferment  of  such  crime   and   such    tragedv,     Subrius  Flavus 


Tacitus.  1 1 1 

was  a  chief  conspirator  from  among  the  soldiers  of  Nero, 
while  Piso  was  the  figure-head  put  forward  as  pretender  to 
the  empire  in  Nero's  room.  Now  let  Tacitus  give  us,  in  his 
own  words,  a  popular  rumor  affecting  these  two  men,  in  con- 
nection with  Seneca  : 

There  was  a  rumor  tliat  Subrius  Flavus  had  held  a  secret  consultation 
with  the  centurions,  and  had  planned,  not  without  Seneca's  knowledge, 
that  when  Nero  had  been  slain  by  Piso's  instrumentality,  Piso  also  was  to 
be  murdered,  and  the  empire  handed  over  to  Seneca,  as  a  man  singled  out 
for  his  splendid  virtues  by  all  persons  of  integrity.  Even  a  saying  of 
Flavus  was  popularly  current,  "that  it  mattered  not  as  to  the  disgrace 
if  a  harp-player  were  removed  and  a  tragic  actor  succeeded  him." 
For  as  Nero  used  to  sing  to  the  harp,  so  did  Piso  in  the  dress  of  a 
tragedian. 

Subrius  Flavus  did  not  escape.     But  he  died  at  last  with  a 
scornful  bravery  that  has  immortalized  his  fame.     Tacitus  : 

Questioned  by  Nero  as  to  the  motives  which  had  led  him  on  to  forget 
his  oath  of  allegiance,  "  I  hated  you,"  he  replied;  "  yet  not  a  soldier  was 
more  loyal  to  you  while  you  deserved  to  be  loved.  I  began  to  hate  you 
when  you  became  the  murderer  of  your  mother  and  your  wife,  a  chari- 
oteer, an  actor,  and  an  incendiary."  I  have  given  the  man's  veiy  words, 
because  they  were  not,  like  those  of  Seneca,  generally  published, 
though  the  rough  and  vigorous  sentiments  of  a  soldier  ought  to  be  no 
less  known. 

Throughout  the  conspiracy  nothing,  it  was  certain,  fell  with  more  terror 
on  the  ears  of  Nero,  who  was  as  unused  to  be  told  of  the  crimes  he 
perpetrated  as  he  was  eager  in  their  perpetration.  The  punishment  of 
Flavus  was  intrusted  to  Ve-ia'ni-us  Niger,  a  tribune.  At  his  direction, 
a  pit  was  dug  in  a  neighboring  field.  Flavus,  on  seeing  it,  censured  i« 
as  too  shallow  and  confined,  saying  to  the  soldiers  around  him,  "Even 
this  is  not  according  to  military  rule."  When  bidden  to  offer  his  neck 
resolutely,  "  I  wish,"  said  he,  "  that  your  stroke  may  be  as  resolute." 
The  tribune  trembled  greatly,  and  having  only  just  severed  his  head  at 
two  blows,  vaunted  his  brutality  to  Nero,  saying  that  he  had  slain  him 
with  a  blow  and  a  half. 

The  opportunity  seemed  favorable  to  Nero  for  clearing  off 
at  once  the  score  of  his  personal  hatreds.     Ves-ti'nus,  the 


112  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

consul,  could  not  be  brought  under  any  show  of  suspicion. 
But  the  emperor  hated  him  as  a  boon  companion  "who  often 
bantered  him  with  that  rough  humor  which  [an  observation 
showing  the  historian  wise  in  human  nature],  when  it  draws 
largely  on  facts,  leaves  a  bitter  memory  behind  it."  Nero 
used  his  imperial  reserve  of  outright  and  peremptory  despot- 
ism, for  the  destruction  of  Vestinus.  The  soldiers  came  upon 
the  consul  in  the  midst  of  a  banquet,  at  which  he  was  enter- 
taining friends  in  his  own  house.  The  tribune  announced  his 
sentence.     Now  Tacitus  : 

He  rose  without  a  moment's  delay,  and  every  preparation  was  at  once 
made.  He  shut  himself  into  his  chamber;  a  physician  was  at  iiis  side  ; 
his  veins  were  opened  ;  with  life  still  strong  in  him,  he  was  carried  into 
a  bath,  and  plunged  into  warm  water,  without  uttering  a  word  of  pity  for 
himself.  Meanwhile  the  guards  surrounded  those  who  had  sat  at  his 
table,  and  it  was  only  at  a  late  hour  of  tlie  night  that  tliey  were  dis- 
missed, when  Nei-o,  having  pictured  to  himself  and  laughed  over  their 
terror  at  the  expectation  of  a  fatal  end  to  their  banquet,  said  that  they 
had  suft'ered  enough  punishment  for  their  consul's  entertainment. 

The  poet  Lucan,  author  of  the  "  Pharsalia,"  an  epic  poem 
on  the  civil  war  between  Ccesar  and  Pompey,  was  another 
victim.  He  died  at  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  witli  theatric 
circumstance  well  befitting  the  type  of  his  genius.     Tacitus: 

As  the  blood  flowed  freely  from  him,  and  he  felt  a  chill  creeping 
through  his  feet  and  hands,  and  the  life  gradually  ebbing  from  his  ex- 
tremities, though  the  heart  was  still  warm  and  he  retained  his  mental 
power,  Lu-ca'nus  recalled  some  poetry  he  had  composed  in  which  he  had 
told  the  story  of  a  wounded  soldier  dying  a  similar  kind  of  death,  and 
he  recited  the  very  lines.     These  were  his  last  words. 

Exactly  what  lines  they  were  that  Lucan,  dying,  tragically 
repeated,  is  not  known.  Two  different  passages  are  pointed 
out  as  likely,  either  one  of  them,  to  have  been  declaimed  on 
the  occasion.  We  give  them  both.  They  will  serve  very  well 
to  indicate  the  quality  of  Lucan's  ambitious  poem.  The  trans- 
lator, Nicholas  Rowe,  has,  by  the  turgid  swell  of  his  English 


Tacitus.  113 

heroics,  been  true  to  the  grandiose  style  of  his  original.  The 
celebrated  English  essayist,  John  Foster,  was  an  admirer  of 
Lucan.  In  his  essay  on  the  Aversion  of  Men  of  Taste  to 
Evangelical  Religion,  he  has  some  very  striking  incidental 
remarks,  appreciating  what  he  felt  to  be  the  moral  elevation 
and  the  eloquent  poetry  of  this  gifted  young  Roman,  Lucan 
was  a  nephew  of  the  philosopher  Seneca. 

The  first  of  the  two  passages  to  be  given  occurs  in  the 
third  book  of  the  "Pharsalia."  It  describes  an  incident  repre- 
sented as  taking  place  in  the  sea-fight  before  Marseilles, 
Caesar  laying  siege  to  that  city  : 

On  Lycidas  a  steely  grappling  struck  ; 
Struggling  he  drags  witii  the  tenacious  hook, 
And  deep  had  drowned  beneath  the  greedy  wave, 
But  that  liis  fellows  strove  their  mate  to  save  ; 
Clung  to  his  legs,  they  clasp  him  all  they  can, 
The  grappling  tugs,  asunder  flies  the  man. 
No  single  wound  the  gaping  rupture  seems, 
Where  trickling  crimson  wells  in  slender  streams  ; 
But  from  an  opening  horrible  and  wide 
A  thousand  vessels  pour  the  bursting  tide  : 
At  once  the  winding  channel's  course  was  broke, 
Where  wandering  life  her  mazy  journey  took  ; 
At  once  the  currents  all  forgot  their  way, 
And  lost  their  purple  in  the  azure  sea. 
Soon  from  the  lower  parts  the  spirits  fled, 
And  motionless  the  exhausted  limbs  lay  dead : 
Not  so  the  nobler  regions,  where  the  heart. 
And  heaving  lungs,  their  vital  powers  exert ; 
There  lingering  late,  and  long-conflicting,  life 
Rose  against  fate,  and  still  maintained  the  strife : 
Driven  out  at  length,  unwillingly  and  slow, 
She  left  her  mortal  house,  and  sought  the  shades  below. 

The  last  eight  lines  foregoing  certainly  make  a  very  good 
match  with  Lucan's  case  as  described  by  Tacitus.  There 
can,  we  think,  be  little  doubt  that  this  was  the  identical  pas- 
sage recited. 


114  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

The  second  (less  likely)  passage  is  found  in  the  ninth  book. 
The  war  had  now  gone  into  Africa.  Some  lines  here,  in  the 
original  text,  are  of  doubtfid  meaning.  Rovve  chooses  a  cer- 
tain sense,  and  gives  that  without  question.  We  begin  our 
own  quotation  far  enough  back  to  include  an  interesting 
reference  to  luxurious  practices  observed  at  Rome  in  the 
displays  of  the  amphitheatre  : 

But  fertile  I^ib'ya  still  new  plagues  supplies, 
And  to  more  horrid  monsters  turns  their  eyes, 
Deeply  the  fierce  Hosmor'rho-is  impressed 
Her  fatal  teetli  on  Tullus'  valiant  breast, 
The  noble  youtli,  with  virtue's  love  inspired, 
Her,  in  her  Cato,  followed  and  admired  ; 
Moved  by  his  great  example,  vowed  to  share 
With  him,  each  change  of  that  disastrous  war. 
And  as  when  mighty  Rome's  spectators  meet 
In  the  full  theater's  capacious  seat. 
At  once,  by  secret  pipes  and  channels  fed, 
Rich  tinctures  gush  from  every  antique  head  ; 
At  once  ten  thousand  saffron  currents  flow. 
And  rain  their  odors  on  the  crowd  below  : 
So  the  warm  blood  at  once  from  every  part 
Ran  purple  poison  down  and  drained  the  fainting  heart. 
Blood  falls  for  tears,  and  o'er  his  mournful  face 
The  ruddy  drops  their  tainted  passage  trace  : 
Where'er  the  liquid  juices  find  a  way 
There  streams  of  blood,  there  crimson  rivers  stray  ; 
His  mouth  and  gushing  nostrils  pour  a  flood  ; 
And  ev'n  the  pores  ooze  out  the  trickling  blood; 
In  the  red  deluge  all  the  parts  lie  drowned. 
And  the  whole  body  seems  one  bleeding  wound. 

Lucan,  if  he  had  lived  longer,  and  if  he  had  fallen  on 
days  more  propitious  to  poetical  achievement,  might  perhaps, 
outgrowing  the  faults  of  his  youth,  have  conquered  for  him- 
self a  place  among  the  greatest  poets  of  Rome.  We  have 
been  glad  to  present,  in  passing,  some  slight  hint  at  least — 
hint,    comparatively    speaking,   sufficient — of  what  work  he 


Tacitus.  T15 

could  do  while  he  was  still  a  very  young  man.  Lucan  is 
seldom  or  never  studied  in  the  school  or  college  class-room. 

The  abjectness  of  Rome  amid  this  carnival  of  blood 
passes  belief.  "  One  after  another,"  so  Tacitus  relates,  "  on 
the  destruction  of  a  brother,  a  kinsman,  or  a  friend,  would 
return  thanks  to  the  gods,  deck  his  house  with  laurels,  pros- 
trate himself  at  the  knees  of  the  emperor,  and  weary  his 
hand  with  kisses." 

The  rewards  distributed  by  the  emperor  to  informers  and 
favorites  were  on  a  scale  commensurate  with  the  magnitude 
of  the  cruelties  wreaked  on  the  victims  of  imperial  hatred  or 
imperial  suspicion.  Every  common  soldier  received  a  pres- 
ent of  nearly  a  hundred  dollars  in  money,  together  with  his 
rations  of  grain. 

Nero  had  established,  after  a  fashion  of  the  Greeks,  a  quin- 
quennial contest  of  eloquence  and  song.  The  occasion  was 
now  approaching.  The  senate  hoped  to  forestall  the  em- 
peror's disgraceful  exhibition  of  himself  as  competitor,  by 
decreeing  to  him,  in  advance  of  the  festival,  the  palm  of 
victory  in  both  music  and  oratory.  Let  Tacitus  tell  how 
well  they  succeeded  : 

Nero,  however,  repeatedly  declared  that  he  wanted  neither  favor  nor 
the  Senate's  influence,  as  he  was  a  match  for  his  rivals,  and  was  certain, 
in  the  conscientious  opinion  of  the  judges,  to  win  the  honor  by  merit. 
First,  he  recited  a  poem  on  the  stage  ;  then,  at  the  importunate  request 
of  the  rabble  that  he  would  make  public  property  of  all  his  accomplish- 
ments (these  were  their  words),  he  entered  the  theater,  and  conformed 
to  all  the  laws  of  harp-playing,  not  sitting  down  when  tired,  nor  wiping 
off  tlie  perspiration  with  any  thing  but  the  garment  he  wore,  or  letting 
himself  be  seen  to  spit  or  clear  his  nostrils.  Last  of  all,  on  bended  knee, 
he  saluted  the  assembly  with  a  motion  of  the  hand,  and  awaited  the 
verdict  of  the  judges  with  pretended  anxiety.  And  then  the  city  pop- 
ulace, who  were  wont  to  encourage  every  gesture  even  of  actors,  made 
the  place  ring  with  measured  strains  of  elaborate  applause.  One  would 
have  thought  they  were  rejoicing,  and  perhaps  they  did  rejoice,  in  their 
indifference  to  the  public  disgrace. 

All,  however,  who  were  present  from  remote  towns,  and  still  retained 


ii6 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


the  Italy  of  strict  morals  and  primitive  ways  ;  all  too  who  had  come  on 
embassies  or  on  private  business  from  distant  provinces,  where  they 
had  been  unused  to  such  wantonness,  were  unable  to  endure  the  spec- 
tacle or  sustain  the  degrading  fatigue,  which  wearied  their  un- 
practiced  hands,  while  they  disturbed  those  who  knew  their  part,  and 
were  often  struck  by  soldiers,  stationed  in  the  seats,  to  see  that 
not  a  moment  of  time  passed  with  less  vigorous  applause  or  in  the  silence 
of  indifference.  It  was  a  known  fact  that  several  knights,  in  struggling 
through  the  narrow  approaches  and  the  pressure  of 
the  crowd,  were  trampled  to  death,  and  that  others 
while  keeping  their  seats  day  and  night  were  seized 
with  some  fatal  maladj'.  For  it  was  still  worse  danger 
to  be  absent  from  the  show,  as  many  openly  and 
many  more  secretly  made  it  their  business  to  scru- 
tinize names  and  faces,  and  to  note  the  delight  or  the 
disgust  of  the  company.  Hence  came  cruel  severi- 
ties, immediately  exercised  on  the  humble,  and  re- 
sentments, concealed  for  the  moment,  but  subse- 
quently paid  off,  toward  men  of  distinction.  There 
was  a  story  that  Ves-pa'sian  was  insulted  by  Phoebus, 
a  freedman,  for  closing  his  eyes  in  a  doze,  and  that 
having  with  difficulty  been  screened  by  the  interces- 
sions of  the  well  disposed,  he  escaped  imminent  destruction  through  his 
grander  destiny. 

The  "grander  destiny"  awaiting  Vespasian  was,  in  due 
time,  to  be  emperor.  The  games  over,  "Poppgea  died,"  so 
Tacitus  relates,  "  from  a  casual  outburst  of  rage  in  her  hus- 
band, who  felled  her  with  a  kick  when  she  was  pregnant." 
Nero  eulogized  her  publicly  from  the  rostra. 

We  break  into  the  gloomy  catalogue  of  imperial  crimes 
recounted  by  Tacitus,  to  give  the  story,  surpassing  in  trag- 
edy, of  the  threefold  associate  death  of  Lucius  Vetus,  of 
Sextia,  his  mother-in-law,  and  of  Pollutia,  his  daughter.  Pol- 
lutia  was  the  widow  of  a  man  formerly  murdered  by  Nero. 
She  interceded  in  vain  with  the  ernperor  on  her  father's 
behalf.     Tacitus  says : 

He  was  at   the  same   time  informed  that  judicial  proceedings  in  the 
Senate  and  a  dreadful  sentence  were  hanging  over  him.     Some  there 


VESPASIAN. 


Tacitus.  117 

were  who  advised  him  to  name  the  emperor  as  his  chief  lieir,  and  so 
secure  the  remainder  for  his  grandchildren.  But  he  spurned  the  notion, 
and  unwilling  to  disgrace  a  life  which  had  clung  to  freedom  by  a  final 
act  of  servility,  he  bestowed  on  his  slaves  all  his  ready  money,  and 
ordered  each  to  convey  away  for  himself  whatever  he  could  carry, 
leaving  only  three  couches  for  the  last  scene.  Then  in  the  same  cham- 
ber, with  the  same  weapon,  they  sundered  their  veins,  and  speedily 
hurried  into  a  bath,  covered  each,  as  delicacy  required,  with  a  single 
garment,  the  father  gazing  intently  on  his  daughter,  the  grandmother 
on  her  grandchild,  she  again  on  both,  while  with  rival  earnestness  they 
prayed  that  the  el)bing  life  might  have  a  quick  departure,  each  wishing 
to  leave  a  relative  still  surviving,  but  just  on  the  verge  of  death.  For. 
tune  preserved  the  due  order ;  the  oldest  died  first,  then  the  others  ac- 
cording to  priority  of  age.  They  were  prosecuted  after  their  burial,  and 
the  sentence  was  that  "  they  should  be  punished  in  ancient  fashion." 
Nero  interposed  his  veto,  allowing  them  to  die  without  his  interference. 
Such  were  the  mockeries  added  to  murders  already  perpetrated. 

Storms  accompanied,  and  pestilence,  to  signalize,  more 
gloomily  still,  this  year  of  shameful  human  deeds.  Tacitus 
interrupts  himself,  amid  his  narrative  of  horrible  things,  to 
say  : 

Even  if  I  had  to  relate  foreign  wars  and  deaths  encountered  in  the 
service  of  the  State  with  such  a  monotony  of  disaster,  I  should  myself 
have  been  overcome  by  disgust,  while  I  should  look  for  weariness  in  my 
readers,  sickened  as  they  would  be  by  the  melancholy  and  continuous 
destruction  of  our  citizens,  however  glorious  to  themselves.  But  now  a 
servile  submissiveness  and  so  much  wanton  bloodshed  at  home  fatigue 
the  mind  and  paralyze  it  with  grief.  The  only  indulgence  I  would  ask 
from  those  who  will  acquaint  themselves  with  these  horrors  is,  that  I  be 
not  thought  to  hate  men  who  perished  so  tamely.  Such  was  the  wrath 
of  heaven  against  the  Roman  State  that  one  may  not  pass  over  it  with 
a  single  mention,  as  one  might  the  defeat  of  armies  and  the  capture  of 
cities.  Let  us  grant  this  privilege  to  the  posterity  of  illustrious  men, 
that  just  as  in  their  funeral  obsequies  such  men  are  not  confounded  in  a 
common  burial,  so  in  the  record  of  their  end  they  may  receive  and  retain 
a  special  memorial. 

A  singular  case  of  gay  and  gallant  greeting  to  compulsory 
death  occurred — without  mention  of  which,  our  picture  of  the 


ii8  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

time  would  want  something  of  proper  contrast  to  make  it 
complete.  Of  this  incident,  Caius  Pe-tro'ni-us  was  the  hero. 
A  certain  literary  interest  attaches  to  the  name  of  Petronius. 
He  was  putative  author  of  a  phrase  that  is  one  of  the  most 
familiar  commonplaces  of  literature — "curious  felicity,"  as  it 
is  transferred,  rather  than  translated,  from  the  original  Latin, 
ciiriosa  felicitas.  The  words  thus  combined  were  meant  to 
express  the  idea  of  that  perfection  in  phrase  which  is  the 
result  of  great  care,  joined  to  excellent  good  luck,  in  the 
choice  of  language  to  match  your  tliought.     Tacitus  says  : 

With  regard  to  Caius  Petronius,  I  ought  to  dwell  a  little  on  his  ante- 
cedents. His  days  he  passed  in  sleep,  his  nights  in  tlie  business  and 
pleasures  of  life.  Indolence  had  raised  him  to  fame,  as  energy  raises 
others,  and  he  was  leckotied  not  a  debauchee  and  spendthrift,  like  most 
of  those  who  squander  their  substance,  but  a  man  of  refined  luxury. 
And  indeed  his  talk  and  his  doings,  the  freer  they  were  and  the  more 
show  of  carelessness  they  exhibited,  were  the  better  liked,  for  their  look 
of  a  natural  simplicity.  Yet  as  proconsul  of  Bithynia,  and  soon  after- 
ward as  consul,  he  showed  himself  a  man  of  vigor  and  equal  to  business. 
Then  falling  back  into  vice,  or  affecting  vice,  he  was  chosen  by  Nero  to 
be  one  of  his  few  intimate  associates,  as  a  critic  in  matters  of  taste, 
while  the  emperor  thought  nothing  charming  or  elegant  in  luxury  unless 
Petronius  had  expressed  to  him  his  approval  of  it.  Hence  jealousy  on 
the  part  of  Tigellinus,  who  looked  on  him  as  a  rival  and  even  his  supe- 
rior in  the  science  of  pleasure.  And  so  he  worked  on  the  prince's  cru- 
elty, which  dominated  every  other  passion,  charging  Petronius  with 
having  been  the  friend  of  Scse-vi'nus,  bribing  a  slave  to  become  inform- 
er, robbing  him  of  the  means  of  defense,  and  hurrying  into  prison  the 
greater  part  of  his  domestics. 

It  happened  at  the  time  that  the  emperor  was  on  his  way  to  Campania, 
and  tliat  Petronius,  after  going  as  far  as  Cumae,  was  there  detained. 
He  bore  no  longer  the  suspense  of  fear  or  hope.  Yet  he  did  not  fling 
away  life  with  precipitate  haste,  but  having  made  an  incision  in  his  veins 
and  then,  according  to  his  humor,  bound  them  up,  he  again  opened  them, 
while  he  conversed  with  his  friends,  not  in  a  serious  strain  or  on  topics 
that  might  win  for  him  the  glory  of  courage.  And  he  listened  to  them 
as  they  repeated,  not  thoughts  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  or  on  the 
theories  of  philosophers,  but  light  poetry  and  playful  verses.  To  some 
of  his  slaves  he  gave  liberal  presents,  a  flogging  to  others.     He  dined, 


Tacitus.  119 

indulged  himself  in  sleep,  that  death,  though  forced  on  him,  might  have 
a  natural  appearance.  Even  in  his  will  he  did  not,  ns  did  many  in  their 
last  moments,  flatter  Nero  or  Tigeliinus  or  any  other  of  the  men  in  power. 
On  the  contrary,  he  described  fully  the  prince's  shameful  excesses,  with 
the  names  of  his  male  and  female  companions  and  their  novelties  in 
debauchery,  and  sent  the  account  under  seal  to  Nero.  Then  he  broke  his 
signet-ring,  that  it  might  not  be  subsequently  available  for  imperiling 
others. 

One  cannot  help  indulging  a  transient  admiration  of  some- 
thing in  the  dying  of  this  Roman  exquisite,  of  an  evil  time, 
that  goes  toward  redeeming  the  ignoble  of  his  life. 

Thrasea  is  almost  as  much  the  chosen  historical  favorite  of 
Tacitus,  as  William  of  Orange  notoriously  was  of  Macaulay. 
Now  comes  the  story  of  the  end  of  this  "  noblest  Roman  of 
them  all."  The  historian  begins  it  with  this  impressive 
preface  :  "  Nero,  after  having  butchered  so  many  illustrious 
men,  at  last  aspired  to  extirpate  virtue  itself  by  murdering 
Thrasea  Foetus  and  Ba-re'a  So-ra'nus." 

An  officious  informer  charged  Thrasea  to  the  emperor,  in 
a  strain  of  which  the  following  may  serve  as  a  specimen. 
Tacitus : 

"The  country,  in  its  eagerness  for  discord  is  now  talking  of  you,  Nero, 
and  of  Thrasea,  as  it  talked  once  of  Caius  Cresar  and  Marcus  Cato. 
Thrasea  has  his  followers  or  rather  his  satellites,  who  copy,  not  indeed 
as  yet  the  audacious  tone  of  his  sentiments,  but  only  his  manners  and 
his  looks,  a  sour  and  gloomy  set,  bent  on  making  your  mirthfulness  a 
reproach  to  you.  He  is  the  only  man  who  cares  not  for  your  safety, 
honors  not  your  accomplishments.  The  prince's  prosperity  he  despises. 
Can  it  be  that  he  is  not  satisfied  with  your  sorrows  and  griefs?  It 
shows  the  same  spirit  not  to  believe  in  Poppsea's  divinity  as  to  refuse 
to  swear  obedience  to  the  acts  of  the  divine  Augustus  and  the  divine 
Julius." 

"All  Rome,"  Tacitus  says,  rushed  out  on  a  certain  occa- 
sion of  imperial  display,  to  do  honor  to  the  emperor,  but 
Thrasea  was  ominously  forbidden  to  appear.  Thrasea,  un- 
dismayed, wrote  a  firm  letter  to  Nero  demanding  to  know  the 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


charges    brought    against    him.      The    coward    emperor    re- 
sponded by  summoning  his  subservient  senate.     Nov/  Tacitus  : 

Thrasea  then  consulted  his  most  intimate  friends  whether  he  should 
attempt  or  spurn  defense.  Conflicting  advice  was  offered.  Those  who 
thought  it  best  for  him  to  enter  the  senate-house  said  that  they  counted 
confidently  on  his  courage,  and  were  sure  that  he  would  say  nothing  but 
what  would  heighten  his  renown.   .   .   . 

Those,  on  the  other  hand,  who  thought  that  he  ought  to  wait  at  home, 
tliough  their  opinion  of  him  was  the  same,  hinted  that  mockeries  and 
insults  were  in  store  for  him.   .  .  . 

Present  at  this  deliberation  was  Rusticus  Ar-u-le'nus,  an  enthusiastic 
youth,  who,  in  his  ardor  for  renown,  offered,  as  he  was  tribune  of  the 
people,  to  protest  against  the  sentence  of  the  Senate.  Thrasea  checked 
his  impetuous  temper,  not  wishing  him  to  attempt  what  would  be  as 
futile  and  useless  to  the  accused,  as  it  would  be  fatal  to  the  protester. 
"  My  days,"  he  said,  "  are  ended,  and  I  must  not  now  abandon  a  scheme 
of  life  in  which  for  so  many  years  I  have  persevered.  You  are  at  the 
beginning  of  a  career  of  office,  and  your  future  is  yet  clear.  Weigh  thor- 
oughly with  yourself  beforehand,  at  such  a  crisis  as  this,  the  path  of 
political  life  on  which  you  enter."  He  then  reserved  for  his  own  consid- 
eration the  question  whether  it  became  him  to  enter  the  Senate. 

The  senate  listened  to  an  address  from  the  emperor,  read 
by  liis  quaestor.  The  cue  supplied  in  this  address  was  ea- 
gerly caught  up  by  the  emperor's  senatorial  flatterers.  There 
followed  fierce  servility  of  invective  against  the  two  im- 
pleaded men.  The  conclusion  was  foregone.  Tacitus 
pregnantly  says,  "  Thrasea,  Soranus,  and  Servilia  [daughter 
to  Soranus]  were  allowed  the  choice  of  death."  How 
Thrasea  died  is  thus  related  by  Tacitus  : 

As  evening  approaclied,  the  consul's  quaestor  was  sent  to  Thrasea, 
who  was  passing  his  time  in  his  garden.  He  had  had  a  crowded  gather- 
ing of  distinguished  men  and  women,  giving  special  attention  to  Deme- 
trius, a  professor  of  the  Cynic  philosophy.  With  him,  as  might  be  in- 
ferred from  his  earnest  expression  of  face  and  from  words  heard  when 
they  raised  their  voices,  he  was  speculating  on  the  nature  of  the  soul 
and  on  the  separation  of  the  spirit  from  the  body,  till  Domitius  Cse'cil- 
i-a'nus,  one  of  his  intimate  friends,  came  to  him  and  told  him  in  detail 
what  the  Senate  had  decided.     When  all  who   were  present  wept  and 


Tacitus. 


bitterly  complained,  Thrasea  urged  them  to  hasten  their  departure  and 
not  mingle  their  own  perils  with  the  fate  of  a  doomed  man.  Arria  too 
who  aspired  to  follow  her  husband's  end  and  the  example  of  Arria,  her 
mother,  he  counseled  to  preserve  her  life,  and  not  rob  the  daughter  of 
their  love  of  her  only  stay. 

Then  he  went  out  into  a  colonnade,  where  he  was  found  by  the 
quaestor,  joyful  rather  than  otherwise,  as  he  had  learned  that  Ilel- 
vid'i-us,  his  son-in-law,  was  merely  excluded  from  Italy.  When  he 
heard  the  Senate's  decision,  he  led  Helvidius  and  Demetrius  into  a 
chamber,  and  having  laid  bare  the  arteries  of  each  arm,  he  let  the 
blood  flow  freely,  and,  as  he  sprinkled  it  on  the  ground,  he  called  the 
quaestor  to  his  side  and  said :  "  We  pour  out  a  libation  to  Jupiter  the 
Deliverer.  Behold,  young  man,  and  may  the  gods  avert  the  omen,  but 
you  have  been  born  into  times  in  which  it  is  well  to  fortify  the  spirit 
with  examples  of  cour.ige."  Then  as  the  slowness  of  his  end  brought 
with  it  grievous  anguish,  turning  his  eyes  on  Demetuius.  .  .  . 

I'he  "Annals  "  of  Tacitus,  as  they  exist  to  moderns,  end  ab- 
ruptly thus,  on  a  sentence  unfinished,  with  Thrasea  in  the 
unfinished  act  of  dying.  The  rest  of  Nero's 
reign,  a  period  of  two  years,  we  lose  from  the 
incomparable  record  of  Tacitus.  That  living 
bulwark  of  the  empire,  Corbulo,  fell  a  victim 
to  the  jealousy  of  the  emperor,  being  met  at 
Corinth  on  his  return  from  the  East  with  the 
imperial  sentence  to  suicide.  In  A.  D.  68, 
Nero,  risen  against 
by  his  subjects,  and  himself  now 
under  sentence  of  death  from  the 
senate,  died  wretchedly  at  last  by 
his  own  hand. 

A  Rome  how  different  from  the 
Rome  of  Livy,  is  the  Rome  that 
Tacitus  describes  !  But  the  degen- 
eracy, so  great,  of  later  Rome  was, 
after  all,  only  a  ripeness  in  the  fruit, 
of  a  disease  that  lurked  from  the 
first  in  the  heart  of  the  flower. 
6 


CORBULO. 


122  College  Latin   Course  in  English. 


III. 
PLAUTUS  AND   TERENCE. 

The  national  history  which,  in  the  pages  preceding,  we 
have,  by  description  and  specimen,  presented,  may  be  con- 
sidered to  constitute  in  some  sense  a  portrait  of  Rome  drawn 
by  her  own  hand.  Of  this  great  picture,  a  i^w  leading  feat- 
ures at  least  now  lie  under  the  eyes  of  our  readers. 

But  Latin  history  is  not  the  only  autograph  portrait  that 
the  Roman  people  drew,  and  transmitted  to  succeeding 
times.  The  serious  and  severe  Roman  genius  had  its  fits  of 
turning  aside,  in  literature,  from  heroic  historical  portraying 
of  itself,  to  indulge  also  in  humorsome  and  rallying  delinea- 
tion of  the  national  life  and  manners.  There  was  Roman  com- 
edy as  well  as  Roman  history.  The  intent  and  intense  qual- 
ity of  the  Roman  character  might  seem  likely  to  have  turned 
the  literary  mind  of  the  nation  naturally  toward  the  produc- 
tion of  tragedy.  But  the  Roman  spirit,  while  perhaps  suffi- 
ciently theatric,  was,  if  we  may  make  such  a  distinction  in 
words,  very  little  dramatic.  The  drama  never  enjoyed  a 
greatly  flourishing  existence  at  Rome.  And  as  for  tragedy, 
nothing  in  this  kind  really  considerable  was  ever  created  or 
imported  by  the  Romans.  Their  history  itself,  as  it  grew 
from  year  to  year  under  their  eyes,  was  perhaps  a  full  con- 
tentment to  their  desire  for  scenic  representation.  That  his- 
tory formed,  indeed,  for  them,  as  for  all  mankind,  a  con- 
tinuous spectacular  tragedy,  at  once  exhibited  and  beheld 
by  themselves,  with  the  whole  world  for  theater,  and  with 
nations  for  actors — Rome  always  herself  the  mighty  pro- 
tagonist in  every  act  and  in  every  scene  of  the  cv'er^unfolding 
drama.  Rome  might  well  dispense  with  using  he/  left  hand 
to  write  tragedy,  while  she  was  incessantly  sc  hasy  making 
tragedy  with  her  right  hand. 


Plautus  and  Terence.  123 

Scipio  (Scipio  Africanus  Minor,  not  the  conqueror  of 
Hannibal,  but  the  destroyer  of  Carthage)  gave  the  weight  of 
his  example  and  influence  to  encourage  Greek  studies  at 
Rome ;  and  especially  to  encourage  the  importation  and 
domestication  among  his  countrymen,  of  the  comedy  of 
Greek  Menander  and  of  his  compatriot  fellows  in  authorship. 
It  was  even  reported  that  this  stately  and  aristocratic  patri- 
cian had  deigned  to  write  Roman  comedy  himself,  letting 
his  production  appear  under  the  name  of  Terence  as  author. 
But,  in  the  history  of  comedy  at  Rome,  a  little  earlier  than 
Terence,  came  Plautus.  Plautus  created  the  wake  in  which 
Terence,  coming  close  after  him,  found  it  comparatively  easy 
to  follow. 

We  put  Plautus  and  Terence  together  in  treatment,  both 
because  we  have  not  room  to  treat  them  separately,  and  be- 
cause they  are  naturally  associated,  as  being  to  us  the  two  sole 
surviving  representatives  of  the  ancient  Roman  drama.  Plau- 
tus, as  we  have  said,  was  the  elder.  Plautus,  in  fact,  is  the 
very  eldest  Roman  writer  known  to  moderns  by  any  complete 
work  remaining  from  his  hand.  He  was  not  many  years 
before  Terence ;  but  Terence,  by  something  more  modern  in 
his  manner,  seems  two  or  three  literary  generations  nearer  to 
our  time. 

Plautus  as  well  as  Terence  borrowed  freely  from  the 
Greek.  By  a  curious  fortune  in  survival,  the  Greek  Menan- 
der lives  now  only,  or  almost  only,  in  the  reproductions  of 
his  works  proceeding  from  these  two  Roman  borrowers. 
Menander  was  a  very  different  writer  of  comedy  from  Aristo- 
phanes. The  colossal  drollery,  the  personal  hard-hitting, 
the  illimitable  freedom,  of  Aristophanes,  were  in  Menander 
exchanged  for  something  much  nearer  to  that  decent  rail- 
lery at  current  morals  and  manners  which  is  the  prevail- 
ing character  of  modern  comedy.  The  "  New  Comedy," 
Menander's  school  was  called,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
school  of  Aristophanes,  which  was  called  the  "Old,"  in  con- 


124  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

trast.  We  have  in  part  to  guess  how  much  Plautus  and 
Terence  owed  to  Menander.  It  seems  clear  that,  as  be- 
tween the  two,  Plautus  contributed  more  than  did  Terence, 
of  the  personal,  and  more,  likewise,  of  the  national,  element, 
to  qualify  his  adaptations  from  the  Greek.  In  both  cases 
alike,  however,  the  result  is  a  mixed  product,  rather  puzzling 
to  our  natural  sense  of  fitness  and  consistency.  The  Roman 
play  had  its  scene  laid  somewhere  in  Hellas,  the  names  of 
persons  were  chiefly  Greek,  the  life  represented  was  rather 
Greek  than  Roman;  and  yet  Roman  civil  institutions  and 
Roman  traits  of  manners  were  introduced,  quite  as  if  the 
comic  writer  were  unconscious  of  unkindly  mixing  things 
that  differed ;  or  else  as  if  this  very  mixing  itself  were  trusted 
to  by  him  for  enhancing  his  comic  effect.  Probably  both 
writer  and  spectator  were  sufficiently  uncritical,  neither,  on 
the  one  hand,  to  be  disturbed  by  the  incongruity,  nor,  on  the 
other  hand,  distinctly  to  enjoy  the  incongruity,  as  an  element 
of  humor.  We  know  from  Terence  that  his  audience  was 
difficult ;  but  it  was  by  no  means  to  their  being  over-critical 
that  the  difficulty  of  his  audience  was  due.  Quite  to  the  con- 
trary. They  were  childish  and  frisky  to  a  degree.  Terence, 
in  one  of  his  comedies,  begs  his  audience  to  give  him  a  chance 
with  them.  They  had,  it  would  seem,  those  half-civilized 
Romans,  a  reprehensible  habit  of  flinging  out  of  the  play- 
house upon  occasion,  in  the  midst  of  the  play — if,  for  example, 
they  happened  to  hear  the  sound  outside  of  any  thing  going 
forward  (boxing,  it  might  be,  rope-dancing,  a  gladiatorial 
show,  a  procession  in  the  street)  that  promised  diversion  at 
less  cost  to  them  of  brain  than  the  comedy  in  progress  re- 
quired.    So  the  comedist  of  Terence's  time  had  his  trials. 

Plautus  was  of  the  people.  Terence  was  cultivated  some- 
what away  from  the  people.  There  is  a  considerably  stronger 
smack  of  real  Roman  character  and  life  in  Plautus  than  in 
Terence.  Plautus  lived  to  old  age,  and  produced  a  good 
many  plays.     Terence  died  young,  and  brought  out  only  six 


Flaiitiis  ami  Terence.  125 

plays  in  all.  Plautus  had  to  work  for  his  daily  bread.  Ter- 
ence became  the  favorite  of  the  great  and  lived  very  much 
at  his  ease.  Neither  poet  was  native  Roman.  Plautus  was 
of  the  district  of  Umbria,  in  Italy.  Terence  is  said  to  have 
been  a  Carthaginian.  Plautus  is  a  nickname,  meaning  "  flat- 
foot."  The  name  Terence — Te-ren'tius  is  the  Latin  form — 
was  probably  given  to  the  bearer  from  the  name  of  his  patron, 
the  Roman  patrician  that  freed  him.  For  Terence  was  either 
born  slave,  or  else  had  become  slave  by  fortune  of  war. 
Titus  Mac'ci-us  Plautus  was  the  full  name  of  the  one — Pub- 
lius  Terentius  A'fer  [African]  of  the  other. 

Plautus  was  a  natural  dramatist.  He  is  full  of  movement 
and  life.  There  is  in  his  comedies  an  incessant  bustle  of 
change  going  forward.  Every  thing  is  spectacle  with  Plautus. 
He  does  not  rest  to  moralize  or  reflect.  True,  progress  is 
not  uniformly  made  toward  the  end  to  be  reached.  But 
though  the  plot  may  stand  still,  the  play  does  not.  There 
is  at  least  activity,  if  there  is  no  action.  Your  attention  is 
never  suffered  for  a  moment  to  flag. 

Terence,  on  the  other  hand,  depends  more  upon  what  the 
eye  cannot  see.  There  is  an  element  of  reflection  introduced. 
Terence,  herein,  as  we  guess,  more  nicely  responds,  than  does 
Plautus,  10  the  genius  and  method  of  their  common  Greek 
original,  Menander.  Both  writers  are  sufficiently  coarse; 
but  Plautus,  as  more  Roman,  is  coarser  than  Terence. 
Neither  seems  to  care  for  any  moral  lesson  to  be  enforced. 
Each  seeks  to  amuse,  not  at  all  to  amend,  his  audience. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  practical  tendency  of  both 
alike  was  to  deprave  the  moral  tone  of  Roman  character.  The 
influence  exerted  for  bane  by  such  importations  from  Greece 
as  Plautus  and  Terence  purveyed  for  the  amusement  of 
Rome,  may  be  likened  to  the  influence  exerted  by  licentious 
French  ballets  and  licentious  French  operas,  working,  through 
English  adaptations,  to  debauch  the  taste  and  morals  of 
Enuland  or  America.     It  was  an  evil  hour  for  Rome,  when 


126  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


she  began  to  be  accustomed  to  see  reverend  old  age  flouted 
in  the  comic  theater,  and  to  laugh  there  at  trickeries  and 
knaveries,  practiced  at  the  expense  of  every  thing  that  was 
holy  in  home  life  and  in  the  conjugal  relation.  It  is  a  sad 
lesson  in  enlightened  pagan  manners,  the  lesson  that  we 
learn  from  Plautus  and  Terence.  The  canker  is  in  them 
somewhat  opened  to  view,  that  secretly  worked  beneath 
the  gallant  show  of  full-flowering  Roman  life  and  character. 

It  is  one  of  the  traditions  of  the  famous  Westminster 
School,  in  England,  to  present  annually,  about  Christmas  time, 
some  select  Latin  play.  The  tradition,  indeed,  is  something 
more  than  mere  tradition.  The  Westminster  School  is  under 
ancient  charter  obligation  to  pay  such  tribute  to  the  Roman 
comedy.  For  these  classic  entertainments,  Terence  is  the 
favorite  source  of  supply. 

Animated,  perhaps,  by  the  English  example,  the  students  of 
the  University  of  Michigan,  two  or  three  years  ago,  presented, 
with  much  circumstance,  and  with  success  to  correspond,  a 
play  of  Terence,  in  his  original  Latin.  The  lady  students  of 
Washington  University,  in  St.  Louis,  were  not  to  be  outdone. 
They  followed  almost  immediately  with  a  play  of  Plautus. 
Going  beyond  their  peers  at  Ann  Arbor,  these  ladies  took 
the  trouble  to  make  a  translation  into  English  prose  of 
Plautus's  text,  and  furnished  this  in  a  libretto  for  the  conven- 
ience of  such  spectators  of  the  play  as  might  chance  to  have 
grown  rusty  in  their  familiarity  with  comic  Latin.  It  ought 
to  be  said  that,  as  might  properly  be  expected,  the  diction, 
and,  to  some  extent,  the  syntax,  of  Latin  comedy,  differ  from 
the  standard  of  classic  prose.  We  have  in  the  comedy  more 
familiarity,  more  idiom,  more  conversational  slipshod.  This 
character  in  their  original,  the  St.  Louis  translators  repro- 
duced in  their  version.  (The  verse  of  Latin  comedy  is  not 
dactylic,  but  iambic,  with  trochees  intermingled — a  free  and 
easy  meter  suited  to  the  use  to  which  it  was  put.  Archaic 
forms  are  frequent.) 


Plautus  and  Terence.  127 


We  are  limited  in  our  choice  from  among  the  works  of 
Plautus  and  Terence,  by  the  inseparable  moral  character  of 
their  comedies.  Hardly,  indeed,  could  any  single  play  out  of 
the  whole  number  be  presented  here  entire.  We  must  use 
care  in  choosing,  and  then  we  must  also  expurgate  with  care. 
On  the  whole,  we  shall  go  pretty  safely,  if,  for  Plautus,  we 
take  the  play  selected  by  the  young  ladies  of  Washington 
University.  This  is  "Rudens,"  or  "The  Shipwreck,"  as  the 
name  sometimes  is  given.  Rudens  means  "rope."  A  fish- 
erman's rope  plays  an  important  part  in  the  action.  A 
violent  tempest  at  sea  occurs,  whence  the  title  "  Shipwreck." 
One  almost  ventures  to  be  reminded  of  The  Tempest,  of 
Shakespeare. 

Plautus  usually  began  his  plays  with  a  prologue.  The 
idea  of  the  prologue,  with  him,  was  to  explain  somewhat  be- 
forehand to  spectators  the  plot  of  the  play.  The  prologue 
of  Rudens  is,  in  distinction  from  the  body  of  the  play,  versi- 
fied by  the  young  ladies  of  Washington  University.  Con- 
sidered as  translation,  their  verse  is  very  free ;  but  it  is  spir- 
ited. The  translators,  through  the  whole  comedy,  abridge 
their  original.  Their  form  of  the  prologue  we  give  entire ; 
it  will  be  found  to  serve  its  explanatory  purpose  very  well. 
(By  permission,  we  use  the  Washington  University  transla- 
tion, throughout  the  play.) 

The  speaker  of  the  prologue  is  Arc-tu'rus,  a  star,  supposed 
to  bode  wind  and  storm.  Probably  the  actor  who  personated 
Arcturus  displayed  a  decoration  in  the  form  of  a  brilliant  star. 
The  appointments  of  the  comic  theater  in  Rome  were  simple 
and  rude.  In  the  time  of  Plautus  and  Terence,  there  was 
not  even  a  permanent  building  devoted  to  theatric  representa- 
tion. A  wooden  structure,  hastily  thrown  together,  and 
temporary  in  its  design,  was  made  to  answer  the  purpose. 
Not  until  Pompey's  time  was  there  a  durable  theater  of 
stone.  Imagine,  then,  an  actor  designated  and  illustrated 
with  a  star,  perhaps  on  his   forehead,   appearing  before  the 


T28  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

expectant  audience,  and,  at  the  beginning  of  the  representa- 
tion, delivering  himself  of  the  following  prologue  : 

Splendid  and  glowing,  a  subject  am  I 

Of  the  king  of  the  bright  constellations, 

Rising  as  pleases  my  own  sovereign  will, 

Both  on  earth  and  above  in  the  heavens. 

Nightly  I  shine  in  the  clear  azure  sky, 

And  there  with  celestials  hold  converse  ; 

Daily  I  walk  midst  the  dwellings  of  men, 

And  am  worshiped  on  earth  as  Arcturus. 

Now  I  will  show  you  the  reason  I  came. 

And  will  tell  you  the  plot  of  this  story. 

Diph'i-lus  wished  that  the  name  of  this  town 

(To  the  right  of  you  here)  be  Cyrene. 

Here  in  this  villa  o'erlooking  the  sea, 

Dwells  one  Dnsmones,  exiled  from  Athens. 

Not  on  account  of  his  own  wicked  deeds, 

But  through  services  rendered  to  others. 

Lost  he  his  fortune  and  lost  he  his  home, 

And  grows  gray  here  in  want  and  in  sorrow. 

Once  a  young  daughter  had  smoothed  from  his  brow 

Every  wrinkle  that  care  might  have  wrought  there  ; 

She  in  her  youth  had  been  stolen  away, 

And  been  sold  to  a  wicked  slave-dealer. 

Fate  had  ordained  that  the  girl  should  be  brought 

To  this  town  near  the  home  of  her  father. 

Here,  while  returning  one  day  from  her  school. 

She  was  seen  by  the  youth  Ples-i-dip'pus ; 

Beauty  and  grace  gave  her  wonderful  charms. 

And  in  haste  to  her  master  he  hurried, 

Purchased  the  girl  for  himself  with  bright  gold, 

And  bound  with  an  oath  the  slave-dealer. 

This  one,  however,  did  shame  to  his  trade, 

If  he  cared  e'en  a  straw  for  his  pledges. 

He  had  a  guest,  a  Sicilian  old  man. 

Who  had  fled  from  his  home,  Ag-ri-gen'tum  : 

This  one  declares  that  the  place  in  the  world. 

Which  is  best  for  his  host  and  his  business, 

Sicily,  home  of  his  youth  and  his  crime, 

Is  the  market  for  slaves  and  slave-dealers. 


Plautus  and  Terence.  129 

Soon  he  obtains  the  vile  master's  consent, 

And  they  hire  a  ship,  but  in  secret ; 

That  which  is  needed  by  night  they  convey 

To  the  ship,  and  make  ready  for  starting. 

Vows  to  the  temple  of  Venus,  he  says 

To  the  youth,  are  the  cause  of  his  going. 

(This  is  the  temple  at  which  he  pretends 

He  is  going  to  pay  his  devotions.) 

Thither  he  asks  that  the  youth  will  soon  come, 

And  invites  him  to  join  him  at  breakfast. 

Others  make  clear  to  the  youth  what  this  means. 

That  the  scoundrel  has  only  deceived  him. 

He,  when  he  comes  to  the  harbor,  perceives 

That  the  ship  is  quite  lost  in  the  distance. 

I,  since  I  know  that  the  girl  has  by  fraud 

Been  taken  away  from  Cyrene, 

Raise  a  great  storm  that  both  brings  her  swift  aid, 

And  destruction  at  once  to  her  master. 

He  and  his  guest  are  thrown  out  by  the  waves. 

And  barely  escape  death  by  swimming. 

She  and  a  hand-maid  leap  into  a  skiff, 

And  are  driven  ashore  by  the  tempest, 

Here  by  the  house  of  her  father  unknown, 

Whose  tiling  the  storm- wind  has  injured. 

This  is  his  slave  who  is  just  coming  out, 

And  the  youth  Plesidippus,  the  lover, 

Soon  will  appear.     Fare  you  well,  and  be  strong. 

That  your  enemies  all  may  be  vanquished. 

The  *'  Argument  "  prefixed  to  the  play  is  further  helpful  to 
the  understanding  of  the  dramatic  design  : 

"A  fisherman  drew  up  from  the  sea  with  his  net  a  wallet, 
which  contained  the  trinkets  of  his  master's  daughter,  who,  hav- 
ing been  stolen  in  her  youth,  was  now  owned  by  a  slave-dealer. 
Thrown  ashore  in  a  shipwreck,  she  came,  without  her  knowl- 
edge, under  the  protection  of  her  own  father.  She  was  rec- 
ognized and  married  to  her  lover,  Ples-i-dip'pus." 

Sce-par'nio  is  a  slave  of  Dre'mon-es.  Dasiiiones  is  the 
man  to  whom  the  lost  girl  of  the  play  will  be  restored,  as 
his  daughter.  Sceparnio,  with  Dsemones,  stands  on  the 
6* 


130  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

shore  watching  the  fortunes  of  a  skiff  struggling  in  the  surf. 
His  description  of  what  he  sees  is  life-like.  It  is  a  very  good 
specimen  of  dramatic  vision.  "  What  is  it  you  see .''  "  asks 
Daemones.     Sceparnio  replies : 

Sceparnio.  Two  women  seated  alone  in  a  skiff!  Poor  wretches!  how 
they  are  tossed  about !  Well  done  !  Well  done  !  First-rate  !  The 
wave  has  turned  the  skiff  from  the  rock  toward  the  shore  !  No  pilot 
could  have  done  better.  I  never  saw  higher  waves.  They're  all  right, 
if  they  avoid  those  waves.  Now  !  now,  look  out  !  See  how  one  of  them 
is  thrown  out !  But  she's  in  shallow  water.  She  will  easily  swim  out. 
Well  done  !  She's  all  right.  She  has  got  out  of  the  water.  Now  she's 
on  the  shore.  The  other  one  has  jumped  from  the  skiff  into  the  water. 
See  her  fall  on  her  knees  in  the  water  !  There,  she  is  up  !  If  she  turns 
this  way,  she's  safe.  If  she  goes  to  the  right,  she'll  be  badly  off  !  She'll 
wander  around  to-day,  I  guess. 

Dccmones.  What  difference  does  it  make  to  you,  Sceparnio  ? 

Sc.  If  she  falls  down  from  that  rock  whither  she  is  going,  she'll  shorten 
her  wandering. 

DcE.  If  you're  going  to  dine  with  them  to-day,  Sceparnio,  look  after 
them,  of  course ;  but  if  you  are  going  to  eat  with  me,  I  wish  you'd  attend 
to  me. 

Sc.  That's  only  fair. 

Die.  Then  follow  me. 

Sc.  All  right. 

The  cool  indifference  exhibited  by  the  master  Daemones  is 
well  contrasted  against  the  lively  interest,  of  sympathy,  or  of 
curiosity,  shown  by  the  slave  Sceparnio.  If  readers  find  pro- 
vincialisms in  the  English  rendering,  such  provincialisms 
they  may  take  to  represent  the  unconventional  freedom  of 
the  original  Latin. 

The  two  women — one  of  whom  is  Pa-lses'tra,  the  lost 
daughter,  still  claimed  by  the  slave-dealer  La'brax  as  his 
property — finally  get  safe  to  land,  but  separately,  each  think- 
ing the  other  is  drowned.  The  coming  together  of  the  two 
must  have  been  a  very  amusing  representation,  as  managed 
by  the  playwright  and  the  scene-master  between  them.  A 
ledge  or  cliff  of  rock  kept  the  two  women  from  seeing  each 


Plautus  and  Tere?ice.  131 


other,  while  still  they  could  hear  each  the  other's  voice. 
The  audience,  meantime,  could  see  both  the  two  persons  of 
the  action.  Each  has  been  soliloquizing  aloud,  within  hear- 
ing of  the  other — when  Palsestra  speaks  : 

PalcEstra.   Whose  voice  sounds  near  me  ? 

Ampelisca.  I  am  afraid  ;  who  is  talking  here  ? 

Pa.  Good  Hope,  I  beg  you  come  to  my  aid. 

Am.  It  is  a  woman  ;  a  woman's  voice  reaches  my  ears.  Wont  you  free 
me,  wretch  that  I  am,  from  this  dread? 

Pa.  Surely  it's  a  woman's  voice  I  hear.     Is  it  Am-pe-lis'ca,  pray? 

Am.  Do  I  hear  you,  Palaestra  ? 

Pa.  Why  don't  I  call  her  by  her  name,  so  that  she'll  know  me?  Am- 
pelisca ! 

Am.  Hem  !  Who  is  it  ? 

Pa.  It  is  I. 

Am.  Is  that  you.  Palaestra? 

Pa.  Yes. 

Avi.  Where  are  you  ? 

Pa.  By  Pollux,  in  the  greatest  evil. 

Am.  I'm  no  better  off  myself     But  I  long  to  see  you. 

Pa.  And  I  you. 

Am.  Let's  follow  the  voice  with  the  footsteps.     Where  are  you  ? 

Pa.  Here  I  am.     Come  this  way. 

Am.   I'm  coming  as  well  as  I  can. 

Pa.  (iive  me  your  hand. 

Am.  Here  it  is. 

Pa.  Are  you  alive  ?     Speak,  pray. 

Am.  You  make  me  want  to  live,  now  that  I  have  you.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  that  I  do  have  you.  Embrace  me,  my  love.  How  you  relieve  me 
of  all  my  troubles. 

Pa.  That  was  what  I  was  going  to  say. 

The  humor  of  the  foregoing  passage,  of  course,  lies  in  the 
situation  rather  than  in  the  dialogue.  The  success  of  it  with 
an  audience  would  depend  upon  the  scenery  and  the  acting. 
Still  the  merit  of  the  conception — whatever  that  merit  may 
be — belongs  to  the  original  inventor.  Who  the  original  in- 
ventor was,  nobody  knows.  Perhaps  Plautus  himself,  perhaps 
Menander,  Diph'i-lus,  or  some  other  Greek   now  nameless. 


132  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


The  two  girls  make  their  way  to  a  temple  of  Venus  not 
far  off,  where  they  are  kindly  welcomed  by  the  priestess. 

There  are  some  gaps  in  the  text  of  Plautus,  and,  besides 
this,  the  translators  whom  we  follow,  very  judiciously  make, 
as  we  have  said,  omissions  here  and  there.  The  scene  now 
to  be  given  is  on  the  border-line  between  proper  and  im- 
proper; but  it  will  afford  an  instructive  hint  of  what  Roman 
comedists  purveyed  for  their  audience.  Ampelisca,  Palaes- 
tra's companion  in  shipwreck  and  in  hair-breadth  escape,  has 
been  dispatched  by  the  priestess  of  Venus  to  fetch  water 
from  the  house  of  Dsemones.  She  raps  at  the  door  and  is 
answered  by  our  friend  the  slave  Sceparnio. 

Sceparnio.  Who's  making  such  a  racket  at  our  door  ? 

Ampelisca.  I  am. 

Sc.  Ha!  What  good  fortune  is  this?   By  Pollux,  what  a  pretty  woman  ! 

Am.  Good  morning,  young  man. 

Sc.  You're  welcome,  my  lady. 

Am.  I'm  coming  to  your  liouse. 

Sc.  I'll  receive  you  hospitably;  but  what  do  you  want,  my  pretty  one? 

Am.  O,  you're  too  familiar.     {^He  chucks  her  under  the  chin.) 

Sc.  Immortal  gods  !  she's  the  very  image  of  Venus  !  What  lovely 
eyes  !  What  a  pretty  figure !  She's  quite  dark — I  mean  to  say,  a  hand- 
some brunette. 

Am.  I'm  no  dish  for  the  village.     Take  your  hands  off  me  ! 

Sc.  Can't  one  touch  you  prettily,  my  pretty  one  ? 

Am.  At  another  time  I'll  give  you  opportunity  for  a  flirtation.  Now 
I'd  like  you  to  say  yes  or  no  to  the  errand  I'm  sent  on. 

Sc.  What  do  you  want  ? 

Am.  Any  one  with  good  sense  would  know  by  what  I  carry. 

Sc.  And  any  one  with  good  sense  woudd  know  my  errand  by  my  attire. 

Am.  The  priestess  of  Venus  told  me  to  ask  for  water  here. 

Sc.  But  I'm  of  royal  descent,  and  wont  give  you  a  drop  unless  you 
beg  me.  We  dug  this  well  at  our  own  risk  and  with  our  own  tools.  You 
wont  get  a  drop  from  me  without  a  great  deal  of  coaxing. 

Am.  Why  are  you  so  stingy  with  your  water,  which  even  an  enemy 
gives  an  enemy? 

Sc.  And  why  are  you  so  stingy  with  your  love,  which  a  citizen  gives  a 
citizen  ? 


Plant  us  and  Terence.  133 

Am.  Well,  my  darling,  I'll  do  every  thing  you  wish. 
Sc.  Good  !    I'm  all  right  now  ;  she  calls  me  her  dailing.    I'll  give  you 
water  ;  you  sha'n't  love  me  in  vain  ;  give  me  your  pitcher. 
A)n.  Take  it.     Hasten,  pray,  and  bring  it  back. 
Sc.  Wait ;  I'll  soon  be  back,  my  dear.     {Exit  Sceparino.) 

While  Sceparnio  is  gone  for  the  water — to  Ampelisca's  dis- 
may, Labrax,  the  slave-dealer,  appears  on  the  shore.  Am- 
pelisca  had  thought  he  was  happily  drowned  and  out  of  the 
way.  She  runs  off,  and  Sceparnio  coming  back  finds  her 
gone.  He  had  been  chuckling  to  himself  over  his  luck  in 
having  a  chance  to  flirt  with  Ampelisca.  When  he  reap- 
pears with  the  water,  he  is  speaking  aloud : 

Sc.  O,  immortal  gods!  I  never  believed  there  was  so  much  pleasure  in 
drawing  water  ;  with  how  much  delight  I  drew  it.  The  well  never 
seemed  so  shallow ;  why,  I  got  it  up  without  a  bit  of  trouble. 
Haven't  I  been  a  fool  never  to  have  fallen  in  love  before  !  Here's  your 
water,  my  beauty.  There,  I  want  you  to  carry  it  off  with  as  much  pleasure 
as  I  bring  it ;  so  that  you  may  please  me.  But  where  are  you,  my  dear? 
Take  this  water,  if  you  please.  Where  are  you  ?  I  believe  she's  in  love 
with  me  !  She's  hiding.  Where  are  you  ?  Wont  you  take  this  pitcher? 
Where  are  you?  {Gets  more  earnest.)  You  play  nicely,  but  now  really 
be  serious.  Wont  you  take  the  pitcher?  {Begins  to  get  angry.)  Where 
in  the  world  are  you?  I  don't  see  her  anywhere  ;  by  Hercules,  she's  mak- 
ing game  of  me  !  (/«  a  rage.)  I'll  put  this  pitcher  right  down  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  {Starts  off  but  comes  back  slowly,  rejlectitig.)  But 
what  if  some  one  should  carry  off  this  sacred  urn  of  Venus?  It  might 
get  me  into  trouble.  By  Hercules,  I  fear  lest  this  woman  has  laid  some 
plot  that  I  may  be  caught  with  the  sacred  urn  of  Venus  in  my  posses- 
sion. The  officers  would,  very  justly,  make  me  die  in  prison,  if  any  one 
should  see  me  have  this.  {Examines  it  more  closely.)  For  here's  an  in- 
scription on  it  ;  this  tells  whose  it  is !  Now,  by  Hercules,  I'll  call  the 
priestess  of  Venus  out  of  doors  to  take  the  pitcher.  {Goes  up  and  knocks 
at  the  temple^  Halloo  !  Ptol-e-mo-cra'tia  !  If  you  please,  come  and  take 
this  pitcher.  Some  woman  or  other  brought  it  to  me.  It  must  be  car- 
ried in.  {Aside.)  I  have  found  work  enough,  if  I'm  to  carry  water  in  to 
them.     {Goes  into  the  temple.) 

One  can  hear  the  roars  of  Roman  laughter  with  which  this 
scene   would   be  greeted.     The  drollery  is  broad  enough  to 


134  College  Lati7i  Course  in  English. 

be  appreciated  by  every  body,  as  the  acting  would  bring  the 
points  sharply  out. 

There  is  a  scene  now  between  Labrax,  the  slave-dealer, 
and  his  friend  Char'mi-des.  These  worthies,  having  lost 
every  thing,  bemoan  themselves  and  chide  each  other. 
Labrax  had  had  a  wallet  that  contained  all  his  valuables. 
This  is  gone  now,  and  the  two  pretty  slave-girls  are  gone. 
Labrax  is  wretched.  Slave-dealer  we  have  called  this  fel- 
low, but  he  in  truth  was  slave-dealer  of  a  particular  sort,  a 
sort  especially  infamous  even  with  the  ancients.  He  was  a 
procurer. 

Sceparnio,  coming  out  of  the  temple,  meets  Labrax  and 
Charmides.  There  is  some  racy  talk  between  him  and  them, 
in  which  Sceparnio  vents  his  ill-humor  amusingly  at  their 
expense.  But  he  lets  out  the  secret  that  Labrax's  slave-girls 
are  in  sanctuary  within. 

We  have  thus  got  through  two  acts  of  the  comedy.  The 
third  act  introduces  another  set  of  characters.  Plesidip- 
pus.  Palaestra's  lover,  a  young  Athenian,  appears  upon  the 
scene — first,  however,  by  proxy,  in  the  person  of  his  con- 
fidential slave  Tra-cha'lio.  Trachalio  raises  an  uproarious 
hue  and  cry  in  the  street.  Cyrenians  all  are  adjured  to  ren- 
der help.  The  incoherent  alarum  of  his  outcry  engages  the 
attention  of  Daemones.  Very  diverting  is  the  back  and  forth 
between  these  two,  while  Dasmones  tries  to  learn  from  Tra- 
chalio what  the  pother  is  all  about.  The  upshot  is  that  sev- 
eral slaves  of  Daemones  rush  into  the  temple  to  rescue  the 
girls  and  to  thrash  Labrax.  The  sound  of  this  is  heard  out- 
side. The  girls  meantime  issue  from  the  temple  and  Tra- 
chalio seeks  to  reassure  them.  There  follows  a  long  scene 
of  brisk  dialogue,  with  Daemones,  Trachalio,  and  Labrax  for 
interlocutors.  It  is  a  triangular  contest  of  menace,  abuse, 
and  braggadocio.  The  frank  brutality  of  it  would  no  doubt 
be  highly  refreshing  to  the  groundlings  of  the  ancient  comic 
theater.     The  flavor  is  rich  and  strong.     Of  course,  Labrax 


Plautus  and  Terence.  135 

has,  on  the  whole,  the  worst  of  it.  He  gives  up  getting  his 
slave  property  by  force. 

Plesidippus  is  now  at  hand  in  person.  Labrax,  in  vain 
imploring  help,  spurned  as  he  is  from  every  quarter,  is 
dragged  off  to  be  tried  for  fraud  committed  by  him  in  taking 
earnest-money  from  Plesidippus  for  Palaestra,  and  then  run- 
ning off  with  her  to  sea.  The  lively  dialogue  through  which 
the  foregoing  result  is  reached,  brings  out  contrasted  character 
admirably.     Plautus  is  a  true  dramatist. 

The  fourth  act  hints  the  approaching  denouement.  Gripus, 
fisherman,  makes  his  appearance.  Gripus  has  fished  up  La- 
brax's  lost  wallet  with  its  valuable  contents.  This  wallet 
will  turn  out  to  contain  the  keepsake  trinkets  proving 
Paloestra  the  long-lost  daughter  of  Doemones.  Gripus  is  in 
the  act  of  hiding  his  treasure-trove,  all  the  while  purring 
aloud  to  himself  over  his  good  luck,  when  Trachalio  comes 
up.  There  is  an  amusing  confabulation  between  the  two 
men,  too  long  drawn  out  for  us  to  print  here,  but  animated 
and  very  racy  of  character.  The  result  is  that  Trachalio, 
having  caught  sight  of  Gripus's  find,  succeeds,  by  dint  of 
threat  and  persistency,  in  getting  that  fisherman  to  submit 
the  question  of  ownership  in  the  wallet  to  Doemones,  as  con- 
venient arbiter.  Gripus  is  well  content  to  have  it  so — Dae- 
mones,  although  the  other  does  not  know  this,  being  Gripus's 
indulgent  master.  The  scene  that  ensues,  when  the  matter 
is  referred  to  Daemones,  has  interest  enough,  both  of  dra- 
matic dialogue  and  of  dramatic  development,  to  be  shown 
our  readers.  It  will  very  well  illustrate  the  lively  bustle  of 
movement  that  fills  a  comedy  of  Plautus.  The  cruel  relation 
of  master  and  slave  has  a  grateful  relief — probably  true  to 
many  instances  of  real  life — in  the  representation  of  Gripus's 
freedom  of  manner  with  Doemones.  The  kindliness  happily 
then  as  now  inborn  in  some  natures,  was  not  always  quite 
spoiled  by  the  evil  influence  of  despotic  power,  such  as  the 
master  possessed  over  his  slave. 


136  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Daemones  is  just  answering  the  appeal  of  the  shipwrecked 
girls,  as  the  fourth  scene  of  the  fourth  act  opens.  At  the 
self-same  moment,  the  contestants,  Gripus  and  Trachalio, 
arrive.  It  is  a  duel  between  these  two,  which  of  them  shall 
get  the  ear  of  Dsemones.  Now  the  text  of  the  play,  con- 
densed : 

Gr.  Hail,  master! 

Dee.   Hail,  what's  going  on  ? 

Tr.   Is  this  fellow  your  slave  ? 

Gr.  He's  not  ashamed  of  it.  , 

TV.   I'm  not  talking  to  you. 

Gr.   Then  go  away  from  here,  I  beg. 

Tr.  Pray,  answer,  old  gentleman,  is  this  your  slave  ? 

DcE.  He  is. 

Gr,  Really,  if  you  had  any  shame,  you'd  go  away  from  here. 

Dee.   Gripus,  pay  attention,  and  be  silent. 

Gr.  And  he  speak  first  ? 

Dee.  {To  Gripus)     Listen.     (To  Trachalio)     You  speak. 

Gr.  Will  you  let  another's  slave  speak  before  your  own  ? 

TV.  Pshaw  !  how  hard  it  is  to  check  that  fellow.  As  I  began  to 
say,  this  one  has  the  wallet  of  the  slave-dealer  whom  you  thrust  out  of 
the  temple  of  Venus  a  short  time  ago. 

Gr.  If  I  caught  it  in  the  sea  with  my  net,  how  is  it  more  yours  than 
mine  ? 

TV.  Until  the  first  speaker  gets  through,  silence  this  fellow,  pray,  if 
he's  yours. 

Gr.  What,  you  wish  that  inflicted  on  me  which  your  master  is  accus- 
tomed to  administer  to  you  ?  If  he's  used  to  checking  you  that  way, 
not  so  my  master. 

DcE.  He's  got  ahead  of  you  in  that  speech.  What  do  you  want  now? 
Tell  me, 

Tr.  There  is  in  that  wallet  a  little  casket  belonging  to  this  woman, 
who,  I  lately  said,  had  been  free.  .  .  .  Those  trinkets,  whicli  she  had  long 
ago  as  a  child,  are  in  the  casket.  That  slave  of  yours  has  no  use  for 
this,  .ind  it  will  afford  help  to  that  wretched  girl,  if  he  will  give  her  that 
by  which  she  may  find  her  parents. 

D(E.  I'll  make  him  give  it  up  ;  be  quiet. 

Gr.  By  Hercules,  I'm  not  going  to  give  any  thing  to  him. 

TV.  I  demand  nothing  but  the  casket  and  the  trinkets. 


Plautus  and  Terence.  137 

Gr,  What,  if  these  are  golden  ? 

Tr.  What  is  that  to  you  ?     Gold  will  be  given  for  gold,  silver  for  silver. 

Gr.  Let  me  see  the  gold  ;  then  I'll  let  you  see  the  casket. 

Dee.  (  To  Gripus)  Take  care  and  hold  your  tongue.  ( To  Trachalio) 
You  proceed  as  you  began. 

Tr.  I  ask  of  you  one  thing,  that  you  pity  this  woman,  if  this  is  the 
wallet  of  that  slave-dealer,  as  I  suspect.  I  do  not  affirm  this  as  a  cer- 
tainty, but  I  think  it  is. 

Gr.  Do  you  see  how  the  villain  is  laying  his  snares? 

Tr.  Permit  me  to  speak,  as  I  began.  If  this  wallet  belongs  to  that 
rascal  whom  I  have  named,  the  articles  can  be  identified  ;  order  him  to 
show  them  to  these  girls. 

Gr.  What  do  you  say  ?     To  show  them  ? 

D(E.  He  asks  but  what  is  just — that  the  wallet  be  shown. 

Gr.  Nay,  by  Hercules,  it  is  flagrantly  unjust. 

Da.  Why,  pray  ? 

Gr.  Because,  if  I  show  it,  straightway  they  will  declare  that  they  rec- 
ognize it. 

Tr.  Source  of  villainy,  do  you  judge  all  men  by  yourself?  Fount  of 
perjury  ! 

Gr.  I  can  grin  and  bear  your  abuse,  if  only  my  master  sides  with  me. 

Tr.  But  now  he's  on  the  other  side  ;  he  will  get  the  truth  out  of  the 
wallet. 

D(E.  {To  Gripus)  Gripus,  pay  attention.  {To  Trachalio)  State 
briefly  what  you  want. 

Tr.  I  have  said  truly  ;  but  if  you  didn't  understand  I'll  say  it  again. 
Both  of  these  girls,  as  I  said  a  short  time  ago,  ought  to  be  free.  This 
maiden,  when  a  child,  was  stolen  from  Athens. 

Gr.  May  Jupiter  and  the  gods  destroy  you  !  What  are  you  saying, 
hangman  ?  What,  are  those  girls  dumb,  that  they  can't  speak  for  them- 
selves? ...   {To  DcEfttotes)     Pray,  am  I  to  talk  at  all  to-day? 

Dee.  If  you  say  one  word  more,  I'll  break  your  head. 

Tr.  As  I  began  to  say,  old  gentleman,  I  beg  you  would  order  this 
slave  to  return  the  casket  to  them.  If  he  asks  any  reward  for  this,  it 
shall  be  given.     Whatever  else  there  is  in  it  he  can  have  for  himself. 

Gr.  Now,  at  length,  you  say  that,  since  you  see  it  is  my  right.  A 
while  ago  you  claimed  half. 

Dee.  Can't  I  check  you  without  a  beating  ? 

Gr.  If  he  is  silent,  I  will  be  silent ;  if  he  speaks,  let  me  speak  in  my 
own  behalf. 


138  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

DcE.  Give  me  now  the  wallet,  Gripus. 

Gr.  I  will  trust  it  to  you,  but  on  the  condition  that  if  none  of  those 
things  are  in  it,  it  shall  be  returned. 

DcE.  It  shall  be  returned. 

Gr.   Take  it.     (He  gives  Dccmones  the  wallet?) 

DiE.  Hear  now,  Palaestra  and  Ampelisca,  what  I  say:  Is  this  the 
wallet  in  which  he  said  your  casket  was? 

Pa.  I  will  easily  make  this  thing  clear  to  you.  There  must  be  in  this 
matter  a  wooden  casket.  I  will  call  over  the  name  of  every  thing  therein  ; 
you  will  sliow  nothing  to  me.  If  I  shall  speak  falsely,  I  shall  speak  to 
no  purpose.  Then  you  will  have  for  yourself  whatever  there  is  in  it. 
But  if  I  speak  the  truth,  then  I  beg  you,  that  my  property  may  be  re- 
turned to  me. 

Dle,  That  pleases  me.     I  think  you  speak  fairly. 

Gr.  By  Hercules,  I  think  she  speaks  very  unfairly.  What,  if  she  is 
a  sorceress  or  a  witch,  and  shall  mention  truly  the  names  of  all  things 
therein  ?     Shall  the  witch  have  it  ? 

D(B.  She'll  not  take  it  off,  unless  she  speaks  the  truth.  She'll  act 
the  witch  in  vain.  Open  the  wallet,  then,  that  as  soon  as  possible  I  may 
know  the  truth. 

Gr.   He  has  it ;  it  is  open.     Ah,  I  am  lost  !     I  see  the  casket. 

D(Z.  Is  this  it  ?     {Dcemones  takes  out  the  casket.) 

Pa.  It  is.  O,  my  parents,  here  I  hold  you  inclosed.  Here  I  have 
my  hope  and  menns  of  finding  you  stored  away. 

Gr.  Then  the  gods  should  be  angry  with  you,  whoever  you  are,  for 
having  boxed  your  parents  up  in  such  a  narrow  place. 

Dee.  Gripus,  come  here  ;  your  interests  are  at  stake.  You,  maiden, 
tell  from  where  you  are,  what  is  within  this,  and  of  what  appearance  it 
is  ;  mention  everything.  If,  by  Hercules,  you  shall  make  a  mistake, 
you'll  not  be  able  hereafter  to  rectify  it ;  you  will  lose  your  labor  in  the 
attempt. 

Gr.   You  ask  simple  justice. 

Tr.  {To  Gripus)  By  Pollux,  he  doesn't  ask  it  of  you,  for  you  are 
unjust. 

Dcz.  Speak  now,  girl.     Gripus,  pay  attention  and  be  quiet. 

Pa.  There  are  trinkets  in  it. 

D(€.  Yes,  I  see  them. 

Gr.  I  am  killed  by  the  first  shot ;  hold  on,  don't  show  them. 

DcE.  Of  what  sort  are  they  ?  answer  in  order. 

Pa.   First,  a  little  golden  sword  engraved  with  letters. 

Dee.   Tell  me  now  what  letters  are  on  that  sword. 


Plant  us  and  Terence.  139 

Pa.  The  name  of  my  father.  Next  was  a  small  two-edged  battle-ax, 
likewise  golden,  and  also  engraved.  On  the  little  ax  was  my  mother's 
name. 

Da.  Stay.     Tell  me,  what  is  the  name  of  your  father  on  this  sword. 

Pa.  Dasmones. 

Dee.  Immortal  gods,  where  are  my  hopes  ? 

Gr.  Nay,  rather,  by  Pollux,  where  are  mine  ? 

DiE.  Continue,  I  beg  you,  at  once. 

Gr.  Softly,  or  go  to  perdition. 

DcE.  Speak,  what  is  your  mother's  name  on  the  little  battle-ax  ? 

Pa.   Daedalis. 

Dd.  The  gods  desire  my  safety. 

Gr.  But  my  destruction. 

Da.  This  must  be  my  daughter,  Gripus. 

Gr.  She  may  be,  for  all  I  care.  {^To  Trachalid)  May  the  gods  destroy 
you  who  saw  me  to-day,  and  myself,  fool  that  I  was,  not  to  look  around 
a  hundred  times  to  take  care  that  none  saw  me,  before  I  drew  this  from 
the  water. 

Pa.  Then  a  little  silver  sickle  and  two  little  hands  joined,  and  a 
windlass. 

Gr.  Confound  you  with  your  pigs  and  swine. 

Pa.   And  a  golden  bulla  that  my  father  gave  me  on  my  birthday. 

Dec.  It  is  she,  truly.  I  cannot  be  restrained  from  embracing  her. 
Hail,  my  daughter  !  I  am  your  father  ;  I  am  Daemones  ;  and  here  with- 
in is  your  mother,  Dcedalis. 

Pa.   Hail,  my  unlooked-for  father  ! 

Die.  Hail!  with  what  pleasure  I  embrace  you. 

TV.  It  is  pleasant  that  your  piety  has  met  its  reward. 

Da.  Come,  Trachalio,  carry  in  the  wallet. 

Tr.  See  the  knavery  of  Gripus  ;  since  you've  had  bad  luck,  I  congratu- 
late you,  Gripus. 

Da.  Come,  my  daughter,  let  us  go  to  your  mother.  She  can  more 
minutely  examine  the  matter,  for  she  took  care  of  you,  and  knows  all 
about  you. 

Tr.  Let  us  all  go  within,  since  we  give  joint  assistance. 

Pa    Follow  me,  Ampelisca. 

Am.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  that  the  gods  befriend  you. 

The  fifth  act  has  little  to  do  btit  to  wind  up  the  play,  with 
the  happiest  results  accruing  all  around  to  the  parties  con- 
cerned.    Gripus  learns  that  his  iiiaster  is  minded  to  restore 


I40  College  Latin  Course  in  Etiglish. 


the  wallet  to  the  slave-dealer.     Here  is  a  bit  of  the  colloquy 
about  it  between  master  and  slave : 

Gr.  That's  the  reason  you're  poor,  because  you're  too  awfully  honest. 

DcE.  O.  Gripus,  Gripus  !  shall  I  conceal  what's  brought  to  me,  when  I 
know  it  belongs  to  somebody  else  ?  Our  Dremones  can't  do  that  sort  of 
thing  anyhow.  It  is  proper  for  wise  men  always  to  look  out  for  this, 
not  to  be  partners  in  guilt  with  their  slaves.  I  care  nothing  for  money, 
except  when  I'm  gaming. 

Gr.  I've  seen  actors  in  just  that  veiy  way  get  off  wise  saws  and  be  ap- 
plauded, when  they  recommended  these  fine  morals  to  the  people.  But 
when  afterwards  everybody  went  home,  no  one  acted  in  the  way  they 
advised. 

D(B.  Go  into  the  house  ;  don't  be  bothersome  ;  hold  your  tongue,  I'll 
not  give  you  any  thing  ;  don't  you  be  mistaken. 

Gr.  Then  I  pray  the  gods,  that  whatever  there  is  in  that  wallet, 
whether  gold  or  silver,  it  may  all  go  to  the  dogs. 

This  ftee-spoken  slave  had,  for  the  purpose  at  least  of  that 
petulant  moment,  a  low  opinion  of  the  teaching  power  of 
the  drama.  His  petulance  did  not,  perhaps,  in  this  case  lead 
him  widely  astray. 

Gripus  is  by  no  means  at  the  end  of  his  shifts  to  make 
something  yet  out  of  that  wallet.  He  meets  Labrax  and 
drives  with  him  a  sharp  bargain,  according  to  which,  for  a 
handsome  consideration  in  gold,  he  on  his  own  part  engages 
to  get  the  lost  wallet  restored  to  its  owner;  Gripus  will  thus 
profit  by  his  master's  declared  purpose  to  make  the  restitu- 
tion. He  binds  Labrax  by  a  tremendous  oath  to  make  the 
promised  payment  of  money.  Labrax,  however,  though  he 
swore  with  his  lips,  kept  his  mind  unsworn.  Having  got 
back  his  wallet  and,  in  voluntary  requital  to  Dasmones,  relin- 
quished all  claim  on  Palaestra,  he  snaps  his  fingers  at  Gripus, 
refusing  to  pay  that  party  in  interest  any  fraction  of  what  he 
had  promised.  Dsemones  overhears  the  two  bandying  words 
in  altercation,  and  intervenes  to  get  justice  done.  The  way 
in  which  all  is  accomplished  affords  good  dramatic  oppor- 
tunity for  entertaining  dialogue  and  lively  exhibition  of  char- 


Plautus  and  Terence.  141 


acter.      Gripus  is  kept  in  suspense,  but  even  he  says  "  All 
right  "  at  last : 

Da.  Did  you  promise  money  to  this  slave? 

La.  I  confess,  I  did. 

Den.  What  you  promised  my  slave  ought  to  belong  to  me.  Slave- 
dealer,  don't  you  think  you  can  use  a  slave-dealer's  faith  here  ;  you  can't 
do  it. 

Gr.  Now  do  you  think  you  have  found  a  man  whom  you  can  cheat? 
Good  money  must  be  paid  to  me  ;  I'll  give  it  over  to  this  one  right  off, 
that  he  may  set  me  free. 

D(E.  Inasmuch,  therefore,  as  I  have  been  liberal  to  you,  and  these 
things  have  been  saved  to  you  through  my  aid — 

Gr.  Nay,  by  Hercules,  through  mine,  don't  you  say  yours  ! 

Da.  {Aside  to  Gripus)  If  you're  sharp,  you'll  keep  still.  {To  Labrax) 
Then  it  is  only  fair  for  you  to  be  liberal  to  me.  well  deserving  it. 

La.  Are  you  forsooth  seeking  my  rights  ? 

Da.  It's  a  wonder  I  don't  seek  from  you  your  rights  at  your  own 
peril. 

Gr.  I'm  safe,  the  rascal's  wavering  ;  I  foresee  my  freedom. 

Da.  This  one  here  found  your  wallet ;  he  is  my  slave.  Furthermore, 
I  have  preserved  this  for  you  with  a  great  sum  of  money. 

La.  I  am  grateful  to  you  ;  and  as  for  that  talent  which  I  swore  to  this 
fellow  here,  there's  no  reason  but  that  you  should  have  it. 

Gr.  Here  you,  give  it  to  me,  then,  if  you'i'e  wise. 

Da.  Will  you  keep  still  or  not  ? 

Gr.  You  are  just  pretending  to  plead  my  suit.  By  Hercules,  you 
'  sha'n't  cheat  me  out  of  this,  if  I  did  have  to  lose  the  rest  of  the  find. 

Da.  You  shall  have  a  beating  if  you  add  another  word. 

Gr.  By  Hercules,  you  may  kill  me  !  I'll  never  be  silenced  in  any 
other  way  than  by  a  talent. 

La.  {To  Gripus)  Indeed,  he  is  aiding  you,  keep  still. 

Da.  Come  this  way,  slave-dealer. 

La.  All  right. 

Gr.  Do  this  business  openly  now,  I  don't  want  any  muttering  nor 
whispering. 

Da.  Tell  me,  how  much  did  you  pay  for  that  other  little  woman  of 
yours,  Ampelisca  ? 

La.  A  thousand  didrachms. 

Da.  Are  you  willing  for  me  to  make  you  a  handsome  offer? 

La.  Certainly. 


142  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Da.  I'll  divide  a  talent — 

La.  All  right. 

DcE.  And  you  keep  half  for  this  other  woman,  that  she  may  be  free, 
and  give  half  to  this  boy  here. 

La.  Very  good.     (Pays  Dcvmones  a  half  talent. ~) 

DcT.  For  that  half  I'll  free  Gripus,  through  whom  you  found  your 
wallet,  and  I  my  daughter. 

La.  You  do  well,   I  thank  you  much. 

Gr.   How  soon,  then,  is  the  money  going  to  be  given  to  me? 

Dee.   The  affair  is  settled,  Gripus,  I've  got  the  money. 

Gr.  Yes,  I  know  you've  got  it,  but  I  want  it,  by  Hercules  ! 

Da.  Nothing  of  this  goes  to  you,  and  don't  expect  it.  I  want  that 
you  should  give  him  a  release  from  his  oath. 

Gr.  By  Hercules,  I'm  done  for!  Unless  I  hang  myself,  I'm  lost. 
Never  shall  you  cheat  me  again  after  this  day. 

D(B.  Sup  here  to-day,  slave-dealer. 

La.  All  right  ;  I'm  delighted  with  the  invitation. 

Dcs.  Follow  me  within.  Spectators,  I  would  invite  you  also  to  sup- 
per, if  I  had  any  thing  to  give,  and  there  was  enough  at  home  for  a  feast, 
and  I  did  not  believe  you  had  been  invited  elsewhere  to  supper.  But 
if  you  are  willing  to  give  kind  applause  to  this  play,  then  do  you  all 
come  and  banquet  with  me  sixteen  years  hence.  You  two  shall  sup  here 
to-night. 

Gr.  All  right. 

All.   Farewell,  dear  friends,  now  give  applause, 
And  happy  live  by  fate's  fixed  laws. 

A  very  satisfactory  upshot  to  the  action  of  the  comedy,  we 
are  sure  all  readers  will  admit. 

The  time  of  Plautus  is  well  marked  in  his  play  of  "  Poen- 
ulus  "  ("  The  Young  Carthaginian  ").  This  piece  was  writ- 
ten during  the  Second  Punic  War.  It  introduces  some 
Carthaginian  characters,  treating  them  on  the  whole  with  a 
degree  of  respect  which  reflects  credit  on  the  love  of  fair 
play  that  must  have  been  presumed  by  Plautus  to  inspire  his 
audience.  It  contains  a  philological  curiosity.  This  is  a 
short  passage  (some  fifteen  lines)  purporting,  whether  humor- 
ously or  not,  to  be  in  the  Carthaginian  language.  If  such  be 
really  its  character,  it  constitutes  the   sole  specimen  surviv- 


Plauius  and  Terence. 


143 


ing  of  that  perished  speech.  Learned  authorities  have 
widely  differed  as  to  the  true  way  of  regarding  this  curious 
bit  of  jargon.  Some  have  insisted  that  it  is  modified  He- 
brew; others  that  it  is  Chinese,  Persian,  Coptic.  More 
skeptical  scholars,  endowed  with  a  wise  sense  of  humor,  have 
found  it  an  ingenious  invention  of  Plautus's  own.  The  lines, 
whatever  their  linguistic  significance,  are  put  into  the  mouth 
of  Hanno,  the  Carthaginian.  Would  our  readers  like  to  ex- 
ercise their  own  wits  on  the  puzzle  ?  Here  are  the  first  three 
lines,  given  according  to  the  text  of  this  passage  found  in  the 
celebrated  "  Delphin  Classics" ;  in  different  editions,  impor- 
tant variations  occur : 

Ythalonim,  vualonuth  si  chorathisima  comsyth, 
Chym  lachchunyth  nuimys  thalmyctibari  imisci 
Lipho  canet  hyth  bymithii  ad  asdin  bynuthii. 

Of  Terence  very  brief  presentation  must  suffice.  Let  us 
take  for  our  specimen  the  play  ex- 
hibited by  the  Ann  Arbor  students 
— "  The  Brothers,"  so  entitled.  For 
this  play,  we  have  the  good  fortune 
to  possess  a  translation  in  verse  by 
George  Colman  the  elder.  Though 
now  near  a  hundred  years  old,  it  is 
free  from  archaic  quality,  and  it  runs 
off  with  smoothness  and  ease.  The 
Ann  Arbor  young  men  printed  it  in 
parallel  pages  with  the  original  text, 
in  a  neat  libretto,  for  the  use  of  their  audience. 

The  prologue  is  a  signally  honest  piece  of  writing.  The 
frank-spokenness  of  it  propitiates  one.  The  author,  who  out- 
right thus  proclaims  his  own  borrowing,  is  at  least  no  sneak 
of  a  plagiarist.  It  will  be  observed  that  Terence's  prologue 
differs  from  Plautus's  in  not  explaining,  as  that  did,  the  plot 
of  the  play.     The   anonymous  allusion  to  Scipio,  as  reported 


TERENCE. 


144  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

collaborator  with  Terence  in  production  of  comedy,  will  not 
escape  the  attention  of  the  reader  : 

The  bard,  perceiving  his  piece  cavill'd  at 

By  partial  critics,  and  his  adversaries 

Misrepresenting  what  we're  now  to  play, 

Pleads  his  own  cause  :  and  you  shall  be  the  judges, 

Whether  he  merits  praise  or  condemnation. 

The  Synapothnescontes  is  a  piece 
By  Diphilus,  a  comedy  which  Plautus, 
Having  translated,  call'd  Commorientes. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  Grecian  play 
There  is  a  youth,  who  rends  a  girl  perforce 
From  a  procurer :  and  this  incident, 
Untouch'd  by  Plautus,  render'd  word  for  word, 
Has  our  bard  interwoven  with  his  Brothers — 
The  new  piece  which  we  represent  to-day. 
Say  then  if  this  be  theft,  or  honest  use 
Of  what  remained  unoccupied.     For  that 
Which  malice  tells,  that  certain  noble  persons 
Assist  the  bard,  and  write  in  concert  with  him  ; 
That  which  they  deem  a  heavy  slander,  he 
Esteems  his  greatest  praise  :  that  he  can  please 
Those  who  please  you,  who  all  the  people  please  ; 
Those  who  in  war,  in  peace,  in  council,  ever 
Have  rendered  you  the  dearest  services. 
And  ever  borne  their  faculties  so  meekly. 

Expect  not  now  the  stoiy  of  the  play  : 
Part  the  old  men,  who  first  appear,  will  open  ; 
Part  will  in  act  be  shown.     Be  favorable; 
And  let  your  candor  to  the  poet  now 
Increase  his  future  earnestness  to  write  ! 

We  give  an  explication  of  the  plot,  in  the  words  of  the  "  In- 
troduction "  to  the  Ann  Arbor  libretto  : 

"  Its  name,  '  The  Brothers,'  is  derived  from  the  two  pairs 
of  brothers  with  whose  fortunes  the  play  is  chiefly  concerned  ; 
Mi'ci-o,  a  town-bred,  good-natured  old  bachelor  ;  De'me-a,  a 
thrifty  farmer  and  stern  parent,  and  the  two  sons  of  the  latter. 
One  of  these,  -^s'chi-nus,  adopted  by   Micio,  had  been  al- 


Plant  us  and  Terence.  145 

lowed  by  his  indulgent  uncle  to  fall  into  all  kinds  of  excesses; 
the  other,  Ctes'i-pho,  brought  up  on  the  farm,  was  believed 
by  his  rigorous  father  to  be  a  pattern  of  all  virtues,  but  had, 
in  fact,  fallen  in  love  with  a  music-girl  in  the  city,  ^schinus, 
whose  fondness  for  his  brother  is  one  of  the  happiest  touches 
in  the  play,  in  order  to  put  the  girl  in  Ctesipho's  possession 
and  shield  him  from  exposure,  removes  her  by  force  from 
the  slave-merchant's  house.  It  is  at  this  point  of  time  that 
the  play  begins.  Demea,  who  has  just  heard  the  story  of 
the  abduction,  meets  Micio  and  lays  upon  him  the  blame  of 
^schinus's  misdeeds.  At  the  same  time  Sostrata,  hearing 
the  rumor,  infers  that  he  has  deserted  her  daughter  Pam- 
phila,  whom  he  had  promised  to  marry,  and  appeals  to  Hegio, 
an  old  friend  of  the  family,  to  see  that  ^schinus  is  brought 
to  a  sense  of  his  duty.  Demea,  on  his  way  back  to  the  farm, 
learns  from  Hegio  of  ^schinus's  relations  with  Pamphila,  and 
returning  to  find  Micio,  is  sent  on  a  fool's  errand  to  various 
parts  of  the  city  by  the  cunning  slave  Syrus.  Upon  his 
return  to  the  house  of  Micio  he  finds  that  the  latter  has  given 
his  consent  to  the  marriage  of  yEschinus  with  Pamphila,  and 
also  discovers,  to  his  great  astonishment,  that  Ctesipho  has 
outwitted  him,  and  has  been  all  the  time  at  his  uncle's.  In 
the  fifth  act  Demea  becoming  convinced  that  his  brother  is 
in  the  riglit,  suddenly  changes  character,  becomes  the  most 
indulgent  of  fathers,  and  the  comedy  ends,  as  all  comedies 
should,  with  the  marriage  of  the  parties  most  interested." 

We  shall  not  be  able  liere  to  follow  the  course  of  the  ac- 
tion throughout.  The  play  is  pitched  on  a  low  key  of  mo- 
rality. No  doubt  the  fashion  of  its  time  is  truly  mirrored  in  it. 
The  spirit  in  which  the  Greek  authors  wrote  is  that  of  easy- 
going, rather  good-hearted,  Epicureanism.  The  philoso])hy 
of  life  recommended  is,  '  Make  the  best  of  things  about 
as  they  are;  do  not  worry  yourself  trying  to  improve  them.' 
Roman  strictness  was  already  in  the  way  of  sadly  relaxing  its 
tone,  when  it  could  contentedly  listen  and  see,  while  such 
7 


146  College  Latin  Course  hi  English. 

maxims  of  conduct  were  set  forth.  We  shall  no  doubt  best 
serve  our  readers  by  presenting  to  them  at  once,  with  little 
retrenchment,  the  fifth,  the  closing,  act  of  the  comedy. 

Demea,  the  country  churl,  of  the  two  brothers,  is  repre- 
sented as  becoming  at  last  an  out-and-out  convert  to  the 
smiling  wisdom  of  Micio,  the  dweller  in  the  city.  The  sud- 
denness and  the  completeness  of  the  conversion,  but  espe- 
cially, too,  the  startlingly  aggressive  propagandist,  or  mission- 
ary, phase  which  the  conversion  takes  on,  are  an  essential 
element  in  the  comic  effect.  Demea  soliloquizes  and  resolves 
to  adopt  his  popular  brother's  universal  complaisance.  Those 
who  have  grown  used  to  only  surliness  from  Demea,  are 
amazed  at  the  change.  A  sentence  of  very  worldly  wisdom 
from  Micio  seems  to  have  done  the  business  for  Demea. 
'Demea,'  says  Micio,  in  effect,  'the  boys  will  come  out  right 
when  they  grow  up.  Spendthrift  youth  quite  naturally  be- 
comes miserly  old  age.     That  is  the  law,' 

0  my  dear  Demea,  in  all  matters  else 
Increase  of  years  increases  wisdom  in  us  ; 
This  only  vice  age  brings  along  with  it ; 

'  We're  all  more  worldly-minded  than  there's  need:' 
Which  passion  age,  that  kills  all  passions  else, 
Will  ripen  in  your  sons,  too. 

Demea  resists  at  the  moment,  but  the  words  work  in  his 
mind,  as  seems  to  show  the  following  soliloquy,  opening  the 
fifth  act : 

Never  did  man  lay  down  so  fair  a  plan, 

So  wise  a  rule  of  life,  but  fortune,  age, 

Or  long  experience,  made  some  change  in  it  ; 

And  taught  him,  that  those  things  he  thought  he  knew 

He  did  not  know,  and  what  he  held  as  best, 

In  practice  he  threw  by. 

Striving  to  make  a  fortune  for  my  sons, 

1  have  worn  out  my  prime  of  life  and  health : 
And  now,  my  course  near  finished,  what  return 
Do  I  receive  for  all  my  toil?     Their  hate. 


Plautus  and  Terence.  147 

Meanwhiie,  my  brother,  without,  any  care, 
Reaps  all  a  father's  comforts.     Him  they  love. 
— Well,  then,  let  me  endeavor  in  my  turn 
To  teach  my  tongue  civility,  to  give 
With  open-handed  generosity, 
Since  I  am  challeng'd  to  't ! — and  let  me,  too, 
Obtain  the  love  and  reverence  of  my  cliildren  ! 
And  if  'tis  bought  by  bounty  and  indulgence, 
I  will  not  be  behindhand.     Cash  will  fail : 
What's  that  to  me,  who  am  the  eldest  born  ? 

Demea  has  prompt  opportunity  to  put  his  new  scheme  of 
conduct  into  operation.  Syrus,  the  sly  slave,  who  has,  with 
his  tricks,  cost  Demea  so  much  bootless  trouble,  comes  in, 
bringing  a  message  from  Micio  to  his  brother.  Demea 
swallows  a  great  qualm  of  loathness  and  greets  the  knavish 
fellow  fair : 

Demea.  Who's  there? 

What,  honest  Syrus  !  save  you  :  how  is  't  with  you  ? 
How  goes  it? 
Syrus.  Very  well,  sir. 

De.  {Aside)  Excellent ! 

Now  for  the  first  time  I,  against  my  nature. 
Have  added  these  three  phrases,  "  Honest  Syrus  ! 
How  is't  ? — How  goes  it ! " — ( To  Syrus)  You  have  proved 

yourself 
A  worthy  servant.     I'll  reward  you  for  it. 
Sy.   I  thank  you,  sir. 

De.  I  will,  I  promise  you  ; 

And  you  shall  be  convinc'd  on  't  very  soon. 

Geta,  another  slave,  not  Demea's  own  (as  also  Syrus  was 
not),  is  the  next  surprised  person.  He  has  just  respectfully 
saluted  Demea,  when,  Demea  replying,  the  following  passage 
between  them,  spiced  to  spectators  with  asides  from  the 
strangely  modified  man,  occurs  : 

De.  Geta,  I  this  day  have  found  you 

To  be  a  fellow  of  uncommon  worth  : 
For  sure  that  servant's  faith  is  well  approv'd 


148  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Who  holds  his  master's  interest  at  heart, 

As  I  perceived  that  you  did,  Geta  !    Wherefore, 

Soon  as  occasion  offers  I'll  reward  you. 

{Aside)     I  am  endeavoring  to  be  affable, 

And  not  without  success. 
Ge.  'Tis  kind  in  you 

To  think  of  your  poor  slave,  sir. 
De.  (Aside)  First  of  all, 

1  court  the  mob,  and  win  them  by  degrees. 

^schinus,  the  scapegrace  son  of  Demea — spoiled,  as  the 
father  thinks,  through  the  indulgence  of  the  uncle  who  has 
brought  him  up — now  takes  his  turn  of  being  astonished  at 
Demea's  new  humor,  ^schinus  is  impatiently  waiting  to  be 
married : 

^schiiuis.  They  murder  me  \\\\h  their  delays  ;  and  while 

Tliey  lavish  all  this  pomp  upon  the  nuptials, 

They  waste  the  live-long  day  in  preparation. 
Demea.   How  does  my  son  ? 

yE.  My  father  !     Are  you  here  ? 

De.   Ay,  by  affection,  and  by  blood  your  father. 

Who  love  you  better  than  my  eyes.     But  why 

Do  you  not  call  the  bride  ? 
A£.  'Tis  what  I  long  for : 

But  wait  the  music  and  the  singers. 
De.  Pshaw ! 

Will  you  for  once  be  rul'd  by  an  old  fellow  ? 
^.  Well? 
De.  Ne'er  mind  singers,  company,  lights,  music  ; 

But  tell  them  to  throw  down  the  garden  wall, 

As  soon  as  possible.     Convey  the  bride 

That  way,  and  lay  both  houses  into  one. 

Bring,  too,  the  mother,  and  whole  family, 

Over  to  us. 
.^.  I  will.     O  charming  father  ! 

De.  {Aside)  Charming !     See  there  !  he  calls  me  charming  now. 

— My  brother's  house  will  be  a  thoroughfare  ; 

Throng'd  with  whole  crowds  of  people ;  much  expense 

Will  follow  ;  very  much  :  what  's  that  to  mc  ? 

I  am  called  charming,  and  get  into  favor. 

Ho  I  order  Babylo  immediately 


Plautus  and  Terence.  149 


To  pay  him  twenty  minse.     Prithee,  Syrus, 

Why  don't  you  execute  your  orders? 
Sy.  What  ? 

De.  Down  with  the  wall!  {Exit  Syrus) — You,  Geta,  go  and  bring 

The  ladies  over. 
Ge.  Heaven  bless  you,  Demea, 

For  all  your  friendship  to  our  family  !    {Exit  Geta.) 
De.   They're  worthy  of  it.— What  say  you  to  this  ?  {to  ALsckimis.) 
^.  I  think  it  admirable. 
De.  'Tis  much  better 

Than  for  a  poor  soul,  sick  and  lying-in. 

To  be  conducted  through  the  street. 
A^.  I  never 

Saw  any  thing  concerted  better,  sir. 
De.   'Tis  just  my  way. — But  here  comes  Micio. 

Perhaps  the  most  wonder-stricken  man  of  all,  was  Micio 
hearing  of  Demea's  extravagant  proposal  for  the  nuptials. 
Micio  is  destined,  however,  to  be  still  further  impressed ;  for 
Demea,  in  the  overflow  of  his  vicarious  universal  benevo- 
lence, is  even  going  to  make  his  bachelor  brother  marry  the 
mother  of  yEschinus's  bride.  The  following  scenes  show 
this  matrimonial  charity  successfully  enforced  upon  Micio's 
consent  (the  lady  in  the  case  not  being  consulted  at  all), 
with  a  comic  profusion  of  other  kindnesses  scattered  freely 
about,  at  the  instance  of  the  whimsically  altered  Demea ; 
wherewithal — the  audience,  be  sure,  sympathetically  amused 
and  delighted — the  comedy  ends: 

Micio.   {At  entering)  My  brother  order  it,  d'ye  say?     Where  is  he? 

— Was  tliisyour  order,  Demea? 
De.  'Twas  my  order  ; 

And   by  this  means,  and  every  other  way, 

I  would  unite,  serve,  cherish,  and  oblige. 

And  join  the  family  to  ours  ! 
^.  {To  Micio)  Pray  do,  sir. 

Mi.   I  don't  oppose  it. 
De.  Nay,  but  'tis  our  duty. 

First,  there's  the  mother  of  the  bride — 
Mi.  What  then  ? 


150  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

De.  Worthy  and  modest. 

Mi.  So  they  say. 

De.  In  years. 

Mi.  True. 

De.  And  so  far  advanced  that  she  is  long 

Past  child-bearing,  a  poor  lone  woman  too, 

With  none  to  comfort  her. 
Mi.  What  means  all  this? 

De.  Tills  woman  'tis  your  place  to  marry,  brother  ; 

And  yours  {to  yEschiniis)  to  bring  him  to  't. 
Mi.  I  marry  her  ? 

De.  You. 
Mi.  I  ? 

De.  Yes,  you,  I  say. 

Mi.  Ridiculous ! 

De.  {  To  yEschiiius)  If  you're  a  man.lie'll  do 't. 
Al.  lyTo  Micid)  Dear  father! 

Mi.  How ! 

Do  you  then  join  him,  fool  ? 
De.  Nay,  don't  deny. 

It  can't  be  otherwise. 
Mi.  You've  lost  your  senses  ! 

./¥!.   Let  me  prevail  upon  you,  sir  ! 
Mi.  You're  mad. 

Away ! 
De.  Oblige  your  son. 

Mi.  Have  you  your  wits? 

I  a  new-married  man  at  sixty-five  ! 

And  marry  a  decrepid  poor  old  woman  ! 

Is  that  what  you  advise  me? 
yE.  Do  it,  sir  ! 

I've  promis'd  them. 
Mi.  You've  promised  them,  indeed  ! 

Prithee,  boy,  promise  for  yourself. 
De.  Come,  come  ! 

What  if  he  asked  still  more  of  you? 
Mi.  As  if 

This  was  not  even  the  utmost. 
Dc.  Nay,  comply  ! 

AL.   Be  not  obdurate  ! 

De.  Come,  come,  promise  him. 

Mi.  Won't  you  desist  ? 
JE.  No,  not  till  I  prevail 


Plauius  and  Terence.  151 

I^Ii.   Tins  is  mere  force. 

De.  Nay,  nay,  comply,  good  Micio! 

]\Ii.  Tliough  this  appears  to  me  absurd,  wrong,  foolish, 

And  quite  repugnant  to  my  scheme  of  life, 

Yet,  if  you're  so  mucli  bent  011  't,  let  it  be  r 
y£.   Obliging  father,  worthy  my  best  love  ! 
De.  {Asit/t')  What  now?    Tiiis  answers  to  my  wish.    Wliat  more? 

Hegio's  their  kinsman,  (to  Micio)  our  relation,  too, 

And  very  poor.     We  should  do  him  some  service. 
Mi.  Do  what  ? 
De.  There  is  a  little  piece  of  ground, 

Which  you  let  out  near  town.     Let's  give  it  him 

To  live  upon. 
Mi.  So  little,  do  you  call  it? 

De.   Well,  if 'tis  large,  let's  give  it.     He  has  been 

Father  to  her  ;  a  good  man  ;  our  relation. 

It  will  be  given  worthily.     In  short, 

That  saying,  Micio,  I  now  make  my  own, 

Which  you  so  lately  and  so  wisely  quoted : 

"  It  is  the  common  failing  of  old  men, 

To  be  too  much  intent  on  worldly  matters: 

Let  us  wipe  off  that  stain.     The  saying's  true, 

And  should  be  practiced. 
Mi.  Well,  well,  be  it  so, 

If  he  requires  it.     {Pointin<^  to  Aischimis.) 
y£'.  I  beseech  it,  father. 

De.  Now  you're  indeed  my  brother,  soul  and  body. 
Mi.  I'm  glad  to  find  you  think  me  so. 
De.  {Asidt')  I  foil  him 

At  his  own  weapons. 

SCENE  VI. 
{To  t/icin   Syriis.) 

Synts.  I  have  executed 

Your  orders,  Demca. 
De.  A  good  fellow  ! — Truly, 

Syrus,  I  think,  should  be  made  free  to-day. 
Mi.  Made  free!   He?— Wherefore  ? 
De.  O,  for  many  reasons. 

Sy.  O  Demea,  you're  a  noble  gentleman, 

I've  taken  care  of  both  your  sons  from  boys ; 


152  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Taught  them,  instructed  them,  and  given  tliem 

The  wliolesomest  advice  that  I  was  aljle. 
De.  The  thing's  apparent :  and  these  offices  : 

To  cater  ; — bring  a  wench  in,  safe  and  snug  ; — 

Or  in  midday  prepare  an  entertainment  ; — 

All  these  are  talents  of  no  common  man. 
Sy.  O,  most  delightful  gentleman  ! 
De.  Besides, 

He  has  been  instrumental,  too,  lliis  day, 

In  purchasing  the  music-girl.     He  manag'd 

The  whole  affair.     We  should  reward  him  for  it. 

It  will  encourage  others. — In  a  word, 

Your  ^schinus  would  have  it  so. 
Mi.  Do  you 

Desire  it  ? 
^.  Yes,  sir. 

Mi.  Well,  if  you  desire  it — 

Come  hither,  Syrus  ! — Be  thou  free  ! 
(Syrus  kneels  :  MiCIO  strikes  him,  being  ike  ceremony  of  nianuniission, 
or  giving  a  slave  his  freedom?^ 

Sy.  I  thank  you  : 

Thanks  to  you  all ;  but  most  of  all,  to  Demea  ! 
De.  I'm  glad  of  your  good  fortune. 
^.  So  am  I. 

Sy.   I  do  believe  it  ;  and  I  wish  this  joy 

Were  quite  complete,  and  I  might  see  my  wife, 

My  Phrygia,  too,  made  free,  as  well  as  I. 
De.  The  very  best  of  women  ! 
Sy.  And  the  first 

That  suckled  my  young  master's  son,  your  grandson. 
De.  Indeed  !  the  first  who  suckled  him  ! — Nay,  ilien. 

Beyond  all  doubt  she  should  be  free. 
Mi.  For  what? 

De.  For  that.     Nay,  take  the  sum,  whate'er  it  be. 

Of  me. 
Sy.  Now  all  the  powers  above  grant  all 

Your  wishes,  Demea. 
Ali.  You  have  tliriv'd  to-day 

Most  rarely,  Syrus. 
De.  And  besides  this,  Micio, 

It  would  be  handsome  to  advance  him  something, 

To  try  his  fortune  with.      He'll  soon  return  it. 


Plautus  and  Terence.  153 

Ali.   Not  lliat.  {Snapping  his  fiiit^cfs.) 

yE.  He's  honest. 

Sy.  Faith,  I  will  letuin  it. 

Do  but  advance  it. 
yS.  Do,  sir. 

Mi.  Well,  I'll  think  on  't. 

De.  ( To  Syrus.)  I'll  see  that  he  shall  do  't. 
Sy.  Thou  best  of  men  ! 

^.  My  most  indulgent  father  ! 
Mi.  What  means  this  ? 

Whence  comes  this  hasty  change  of  manners,  brother? 

Whence  flows  all  this  extravagance?  and  whence 

This  sudden  prodigality  ? 
De.  I'll  tell  you  : 

To  show  you  that  the  reason  why  our  sons 

Think  you  so  pleasant  and  agreeable. 

Is  not  from  your  deserts,  or  truth,  or  justice, 

But  your  compliance,  bounty,  and  indulgence. 

— Now,  therefore,  if  I'm  odious  to  you,  son, 

Because  I'm  not  subservient  to  your  humor. 

In  all  things,  right  or  wrong  :  away  with  care  ! 

Spend,  squander,  and  do  what  you  will — but  if, 

In  those  affairs  where  youth  has  made  you  blind, 

Eager,  and  thoughtless,  you  will  suffer  me 

To  counsel  and  correct — and  in  due  season 

Indulge  you  — I  am  at  your  service. 
^.  Father, 

In  all  things  we  submit  ourselves  to  you. 

W' hat's  tit  and  proper,  you  know  best. — But  what 

Shall  come  of  my  poor  brother  I 
De,  I  consent 

That  he  shall  have  her  :  let  him  finish  tliere. 
Ai.  All  now  is  as  it  should  be.     (  To  the  audience)     Clap  your 
hands. 

Readers  will  readily  find  in  this  play  of  Terence's  a  con- 
siderable advance  from  Plautus  toward  the  modern  type  of 
the  comedy. 

Terence  has  contributed  several  sentences  and  phrases  to 
the  world's  stock  of  familiar  quotations.  Fortes  Fortuna  ad- 
yV/7'rt:/ (Fortune  favors  the  brave);  Homo  suvi.;  hitmani  nihil  a 


154  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

vie  alicniini puto  (Man  am  I ;  nothing  that  is  human  do  I  count 
foreign  to  myseh),  are  examples.  Let  Plautus,  too,  have  his 
credit  on  this  score.  Quern  Di  diligunt  adolcscetis  moritur,  is 
Plautus's — in  Latin  form  ;  the  sentiment,  however,  had  al- 
ready been  expressed  by  Menander  in  Greek.  "Whom  the 
gods  love  die  young,"  Byron  translated  it;  changing  the 
grammatical  number  from  singular  to  plural,  for  greater  neat- 
ness of  English  phrase. 

The  glimpses  that,  through  Roman  adaptations,  we  catch  of 
the  New  Comedy  of  Athens,  make  us  feel  how  much  we  lost 
in  losing  the  originals.  As  it  is,  modern  comedy,  best,  no 
doubt,  in  the  French  language,  has  been  not  a  little  indebted 
to  inspiration  and  example  derived,  through  Plautus  and 
Terence,  from  Menander  and  his  peers.  Ancient  Greece 
reaches  long  hands  in  many  directions,  to  mold  for  us  the 
forms,  and  to  dictate  to  us  the  spirit,  of  our  literature  and 
art. 


IV. 

LUCRETIUS. 


An  Epicurean,  but  an  Epicurean  very  different  in  motive 
and  in  tone  from  merry-making  Terence,  was  the  grave, 
earnest,  intent  poet  Lu-cre'tius.  Dramatist,  and  scarce  poet 
at  all,  though  he  wrote  in  verse,  was  Terence.  Philosopher 
principally  (or  expounder  of  philosophy),  but  true  poet,  too — 
incidentally  and  as  it  were  involuntarily — was  Lucretius.  The 
Lucretian  philosophy — science  call  it  rather,  or  attempted  sci- 
ence— has  perished  utterly  ;  the  Lucretian  poetry  survives,  to 
perish  never.  Such  sport  are  we  mortals  of  a  power  not 
ourselves,  a  power  greater  than  we  !  What  Lucretius  mainly 
meant,  has  come  to  naught.  What  he  at  times  hardly  seems  to 
have  meant  at  all,  is   his  chief  title  to  living  human  praise. 


Lucretius.  155 

A  great  poet  he  was,  wrecked  in  seeking  to  be  a  great  ex- 
pounder of  philoso[)hy — a  great  poet,  let  us  shortly  say,  who 
did  not  write  a  great  poein. 

Titus  Lucretius  Carus  was  a  contemporary  of  Caesar  and 
of  Cicero.  But,  except  this  bare  fact  of  date,  we  know  al- 
most nothing  of  the  man.  He  scarcely  belonged  to  the  age 
in  which  he  lived.  His  sympathies  were  all  with  an  earlier 
time.  He  felt  the  existing  i)olitical  order  crumbling  about 
him  ;  but,  though  of  knightly  blood,  he  took  no  part  in  shaping 
the  new  political  order  that  should  succeed.  Roman  in 
character,  he  seems  somehow  not  to  have  been  Roman  in 
aim  and  scheme  of  life.  He  made  philosophy — that  is,  sci- 
ence— his  chief  motive.  This  was  not  Roman.  The  Roman 
course  would  have  been  to  choose  politics  for  the  chief  thing, 
and  let  philosophy  take  its  chance  as  a  thing  incidental. 

But  nobody  can  separate  himself  completely  from  his 
times.  And  Lucretius,  tliough  insular,  was  yet  in  the  sea. 
The  sea  around  Lucretius  was  irreligion,  skepticism,  atheism. 
Olympianism  was,  indeed,  still  a  ritual;  but  it  was  no  longer 
a  creed.  The  prevailing  unbelief  involved  Lucretius.  Nay, 
unbelief  is  not  the  word  to  describe  the  state  of  this  man's 
mind.  He  was  not  an  unbeliever,  he  was  a  disbeliever.  He 
was  a  vehement  disbeliever.  What  in  others  was  an  apathy, 
in  him  was  a  passion.  He  disbelieved  in  the  gods  so  in- 
tensely, that  he  almost  rehabilitated  the  gods,  that  he  might 
hate  them  the  better. 

Voltaire  launched  once  at  hierarchical  imposture  a  phrase 
which  acquired  an  evil  renown,  Ecrasez  Vinfame.  Speaking 
in  a  spirit  more  noble  than  Voltaire's,  because  a  spirit  more 
earnest,  more  conscientious,  more  reverent  of  the  truth, 
Lucretius  too,  of  the  verily  damnable  gods  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  in  effect  said.  Let  us  crush,  let  us  abolish  the  wretches. 
To  make  science  triumph  over  religion,  such  as  religion  then 
was,  to  exalt  reason  above  faith,  to  establish  philosophy  in 
the  room  of  theology — may  l)e  said  to  have  been  the  object  of 


156  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

the  one  incomplete  poem  by  which  Lucretius  is  known.  It 
was  an  ahnost  exact  opposite  to  the  object  of  the  great  poem 
of  Milton.  That  object  was  to  explore  eternity  and  vindi- 
cate the  ways  of  God  to  man.  This  object  was  to  explore 
the  universe  and  vindicate  man  against  the  ways  of  gods — 
gods  that  were  no  gods.  The  audacious  sublimity,  the  sub- 
lime audacity,  of  their  several  attempts,  seem  to  ally  the 
two  poets  in  genius,  while  separating  them  thus  widely  in 
aim. 

The  title  of  Lucretius's  poem  is  De  Rerum  Natura,  Con- 
cerning the  Nature  of  Things.  The  scheme  of  the  poem  is 
as  large  as  the  vagueness  of  the  title  would  seem  to  imply. 
The  poet,  as  just  said,  attempts  nothing  less  than  to  explain 
the  universe.  His  motive  ostensibly  is  didactic,  not  poetic. 
He  will  establish  atheism  upon  an  impregnable  basis  of 
strict  science.  His  subject  is  not  for  the  sake  of  a  poem. 
His  poem  is  severely  for  the  sake  of  his  subject ;  as,  finally, 
his  subject  itself  is  for  the  sake  of  his  object. 

It  is  instantaneously  evident  that  on  such  a  theme  as  that 
of  Lucretius,  with  such  a  motive  as  his  inspiring  the  author, 
a  great  poem  could  not  be  produced.  The  De  Rerum 
Natura  is  accordingly  not  a  great  poem.  It  is  further  instan- 
taneously evident  that  no  scientific  treatise  of  permanent  value 
for  instruction  in  science,  having  the  ambitious  scope  and 
pretension  that  Lucretius  proposed  to  himself  for  his  work, 
could  possibly  be  written,  whether  in  prose  or  in  verse,  in 
Lucretius's  time.  The  De  Rerum  Natura  is  accordingly 
quite  worthless  as  science.  If,  then,  neither  as  a  scientific 
treatise,  nor  as  a  poem,  the  work  of  Lucretius  is  to  be  ac- 
counted of  value,  on  what  ground,  forsooth,  you  will  ask,  can 
it  l)e  worth  our  attention.?  We  answer.  The  De  Rerum 
Natura  is  poetically  valuable,  not,  indeed,  as  constituting  a 
])oem,  but  as  containing  poetry;  and  scientifically  valuable, 
not,  indeed,  as  preserving  a  record  of  verified,  or  verifiable, 
science,  but  as  preserving  a  higlily  interesting  record  of  past 


Lucretius.  157 

liuman  opinion  and  speculation  on  scientific  subjects.  We 
proceed  to  set  forth  a  few  specimens  of  the  treasures,  in  both 
these  kinds,  that  arc  to  be  found  in  Lucretius's  celebrated 
work. 

It  is  constantly  to  be  understood  that,  like  his  Roman 
literary  brethren  all,  Lucretius  was  a  copious  borrower  from 
tne  Greek.  He  does  not  pretend  to  be  the  inventor  of  the 
cosmical  system  that  he  expounds.  lie  derives  all  from  Epicu- 
rus, and  he  attributes  all  to  Epicurus.  He  is  devoutly  loyal 
in  his  relation  of  disciple.  Having  first  abolished  the  gods,  he 
almost  makes  a  god  of  Epicurus  to  supply  their  vacant  room. 
Lucretius,  indeed,  in  this  one  thing,  goes  beyond  his  master 
— that  is,  in  denying  the  existence  of  the  gods;  Epicurus  let 
the  gods  live,  though  he  made  them  dwell  apart,  in  a  stirless 
quiet,  taking  no  interest  in  human  concerns.  For  our 
knowledge  in  detail  of  what  Epicurus  taught,  we  are  largely 
indebted  to  Lucretius.  The  great  master's  own  works, 
multifarious  as  tliese  were,  have  nearly  all  perished, 

Lucretius  begins  his  poem  rather  curiously,  for  an  atheist. 
He  begins  it  with  an  ostensibly  dutiful  invocation  of  Venus. 
We  are,  of  course,  to  suppose  that  he  meant  his  Venus  to  be 
simply  a  poetical  personification  of  the  principle  of  fecun- 
dity and  grace.  This  invocation  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
passages  in  Latin  poetry.  Mr.  Lowell  speaks,  strongly,  thus 
of  it : 

"  The  invocation  of  Venus,  as  the  genetic  force  of  nature, 
by  Lucretius,  seems  to  me  the  one  sunburst  of  purely  poetic 
inspiration  which  tlie  Latin  language  can  show." 

So  famous  a  passage  must  be  shown  our  readers.  Here  it 
is,  first  in  the  consummately  fine  prose  version  of  Mr.  Munro, 
acknowledged  the  best  English  translator  of  Lucretius  : 

Mother  of  the  Aeneadae,  darling  of  men  and  gods,  increase-giving  Ve- 
nus, who  beneath  the  gliding  signs  of  heaven  fillest  with  thy  presence  the 
ship-carrying  sea,  the  corn-bearing  lands,  since  through  thee  eveiy  kind 
of  living  things  is  conceived,  rises  up  and  beholds  the  light  of  the  sun. 


158  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Before  thee,  goddess,  flee  the  winds,  tlie  clouds  of  heaven  ;  before  thee 
and  thy  advent  ;  for  thee  earth  manifold  in  works  puts  forth  sweet-smell- 
ing flowers  ;  for  thee  the  levels  of  the  sea  do  laugh  and  heaven  propitiated 
shines  with  outspread  light.  For  soon  as  the  vernal  aspect  of  day  is 
disclosed,  and  the  birth-favoring  breeze  of  favonius  unbarred  is  blow- 
ing fresh,  first  the  fowls  of  the  air,  o  lady,  show  signs  of  thee  and  thy 
entering  in,  throughly  smitten  in  heart  by  thy  power.  Next  the  wild 
herds  bound  over  the  glad  pastures  and  swim  the  rapid  rivers  :  in  such 
wise  each  made  prisoner  by  thy  charm  follows  thee  with  desire,  whither 
thou  goest  to  lead  it  on.  Yes  throughout  seas  and  mountains  and  sweep- 
ing rivers  and  leafy  homes  of  birds  and  grassy  plains,  striking  fond  love 
into  the  breasts  of  all  thou  constrainest  them  each  after  its  kind  to 
continue  their  races  with  desire.  Since  tliou  tiien  art  sole  mistress  of 
the  nature  of  things,  and  without  thee  nothing  rises  up  into  the  divine 
borders  of  light,  nothing  grows  to  be  glad  or  lovely,  I  would  have  thee 
for  a  helpmate  in  writing  the  verses  which  I  essay  to  pen  on  the  nature  of 
things  for  our  own  son  of  the  Memmii,  whom  thou,  goddess,  hast  willed 
to  have  no  peer,  rich  as  he  ever  is  in  every  grace.  Wherefore  all  the 
more,  o  lady,  lend  my  lays  an  everliving  charm.  Cause  meanwhile  the 
savage  works  of  war  to  be  lulled  to  rest  throughout  all  seas  and  lands  ; 
for  thou  alone  canst  bless  mankind  with  calm  peace,  seeing  that  IVIavors 
lord  of  battle  controls  the  savage  works  of  war,  Mavors  who  often  flings 
himself  into  thy  lap  quite  vanquished  by  the  never-healing  wound  of 
love.  .  .  .  While,  then,  lady,  he  is  reposing.  .  .shed  thyself  about  him  and 
above,  and  pour  from  thy  lips  sweet  discourse,  asking,  glorious  dame, 
gentle  peace  for  the  Romans.  For  neither  can  we  in  our  country's  day 
of  trouble  with  untroubled  mind  think  only  of  our  work,  nor  can 
the  illustrious  offset  of  Memmius  in  times  like  these  be  wanting  to  the 
general  weal. 

In  printitng  the  preceding  extract,  we  have  followed  exactly 
the  peculiar  typography  adopted  by  Mr.  Munro  for  his  trans- 
Lation  of  Lucretius.  The  absence  of  punctuation,  and  of  other 
distinctive  marks,  is  no  doubt  designed  by  the  translator  to 
reproduce  approxjmately,  in  effect  to  our  eyes,  the  physiog- 
nomy of  the  ancient  manuscripts  in  which  the  original  Latin 
of  the  poem  has  been  preserved.  In  the  case  of  all  Roman 
authors,  the  best  Latin  texts  are  of  late  generally  printed  in 
a  style  similar  to  that  exemplified  above. 

For  the  interest  of  the  comparison  we  now  add  a  render- 


Lucretius.  159 

ing   in  verse,  taken  from   Mr.  W.   H.  Mallock's  volume   on 
Lucretius  in  Ancient  Ckissics  for  English  Readers : 

Mother  and  mistress  of  the  Roman  race, 

Pleasure  of  gods  and  men,  O  fostering 
Venus,  whose  presence  breathes  in  every  place, 

Peopling  all  soils  whence  fruits  and  grasses  spring, 
And  all  the  water's  navigable  ways, 

Water  and  earth  and  air  and  every  thing. 
Since  by  thy  power  alone  their  life  is  given, 
To  all  beneath  the  sliding  signs  of  heaven; 

Goddess,  thou  comest,  and  the  clouds  before  thee 
Melt,  and  the  ruffian  blasts  take  flight  and  fly  ; 

The  dcedal  lands,  they  know  thee  and  adore  thee, 
And  clothe  themselves  with  sweet  flowers  instantly; 

Whilst  pouring  down  its  largest  radiance  o'er  thee, 
In  azure  calm  subsides  the  rounded  sky. 

To  overarch  thine  advent ;  and  for  thee 

A  livelier  sunlight  laughs  along  the  sea. 

For  lo,  no  sooner  come  the  soft  and  glowing 

Days  of  the  spring,  and  all  the  air  is  stirred 
With  amorous  breaths  of  zephyr  freshly  blowing, 

Than  the  first  prelude  of  thy  power  is  heard 
On  all  sides,  in  aerial  music  flowing 

Out  of  the  bill  of  every  pairing  bird  ; 
And  every  songster  feels,  on  every  tree, 
Its  small  heart  pulsing  with  the  power  of  thee. 

Next  the  herds  feel  thee  ;  and  the  wild  fleet  races 

Bound  o'er  the  fields,  that  smile  in  the  bright  weather. 

And  swim  the  streaming  floods  in  fordless  places, 
Led  by  thy  chain,  and  captive  in  thy  tether. 

At  last  through  seas  and  hills,  thine  influence  passes, 
Through  field  and  flood  and  all  the  world  together, 

And  the  birds'  leafy  homes  ;  and  thou  dost  fire 

Each  to  renew  his  kind  with  sweet  desire. 

Wherefore,  since  thou,  O  lady,  only  thou 
Art  she  who  guides  the  world  upon  its  way  ; 

Nor  can  aught  rise  without  thee  anyhow 
Up  into  the  clear  borders  of  the  day. 


i6o  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Neither  can  aught  without  thee  ever  grow 

Lovely  and  sweet — to  thee,  to  thee  I  pray — 
Aid  and  be  near  thy  suppliant  as  he  sings 
Of  nature  and  the  secret  ways  of  things. 

The  rest  of  our  citations  vve  shall  take,  where  we  can,  from 
Mr.  Mallock's  metrical  rendering.  In  his  volume  at  least  on 
Lucretius,  his  verse  seems  better  than  his  prose.  Judged 
simply  from  this  particular  work,  he,  to  use  Milton's  phrase 
respecting  himself,  has  but  as  it  were  the  use  of  his  left 
hand  for  writing  prose.  The  foregoing  stanzas,  not  indeed 
beyond  criticism  in  minor  points,  are  assuredly  in  general 
very  fine:  that  they  are  as  fine  as  the  merit  of  the  original 
demanded,  would  be  much  to  say.  ("  Take  flight  and  fly,"  is  a 
curious  pleonasm  of  identical  repetition  ;  and  "  anyhow  "  is  a 
word  that  Mr.  Mallock  should  have  let  no  extremity  of  versi- 
fier's distress  reduce  him  to  use). 

The  following  is  the  fashion  in  which  Lucretius  at  the 
same  time  acknowledges  his  discipleship  to  Epicurus,  and 
vents  his  hatred  of  religion,  as  religion  was  understood  by 
the  Romans: 

When  human  life,  a  shame  to  human  eyes. 
Lay  sprawling  in  the  mire  in  foul  estate, 

A  cowering  thing  without  the  strength  to  rise, 
Held  down  by  fell  religion's  heavy  weight — 

Religion  scowling  downward  from  the  skies, 
With  hideous  head,  and  vigilant  eyes  of  hate — 

First  did  a  man  of  Greece  presume  to  raise 

His  brows,  and  give  the  monster  gaze  for  gaze. 

Him  not  the  tales  of  all  the  gods  in  heaven. 

Nor  the  heaven's  lightnings,  nor  the  menacing  roar 

Of  thunder  daunted.     He  was  only  driven. 
By  these  vain  vauntings,  to  desire  the  more 

To  burst  through  Nature's  gates,  and  rive  the  unriven 
Bars.     And  he  gained  the  day ;  and,  conqueror, 

His  spirit  broke  beyond  our  world,  and  past 

Its  flaming  walls,  and  fathomed  all  the  vast. 


Lucretius.  i6i 

And  back  returning,  crowned  with  victory,  he 

Divulged  of  things  the  hidden  mysteries, 
Laying  quite  bare  what  can  and  cannot  be, 

How  to  each  force  is  set  strong  boundaries, 
How  no  power  raves  unchained,  and  nought  is  free. 

So  the  times  cliange  ;  and  nov/  religion  lies 
Trampled  by  us  ;  and  unto  us  'tis  given 
Fearless  with  level  gaze  to  scan  the  heaven. 

There  is  something  of  a  Byronic  quality  to  be  felt  in  such 
writing  as  that.  The  example  of  Iph-e-ge-ni'a,  offered  in  sac- 
rifice, is  cited  in  close  sequel,  as  illustrating 

To  what  damned  deeds  religion  urges  men. 

Lucretius  lays  it  down  as  his  great  first  principle,  that  "  no 
object  is  ever  divinely  produced  out  of  nothing."  This  might 
seem  only  to  mean  that  there  must  have  been  matter,  prior  to 
any  creative  act  of  a  divine  being.  But  Lucretius  means 
more  than  that.  For  he  speaks  presently  of  being  able  also 
to  show  "the  manner  in  which  all  things  are  done  without 
the  hand  of  the  gods."  "The  hand  of  the  gods  "  being  thus 
out  of  the  question,  the  universe,  since  it  now  exists,  must  al- 
ways have  existed.  Always,  but  not  always  in  its  present  state. 
There  was  a  first  state  different  from  the  present.  That  first 
state  consisted  of  particles,  particles  moving,  particles  moving 
in  a  vacuum.  Such  was  the  universe  in  the  beginning.  Im- 
agine a  universal  snow-storm.  The  spectacle  of  those  falling 
flakes  of  snow  will  very  well  represent  the  spectacle  of  tlie 
universe  in  its  Lucretian  primordial  condition.  How  the 
infinitesimal  ultimate  atoms,  supposed  by  Lucretius,  came 
first  to  exist,  he  does  not  explain ;  as  no  more  does  he  explain 
how  those  atoms  came  to  be  in  motion.  That  such,  how- 
ever, was  the  primal  state  of  things,  he  is  quite  sure.  And  he 
makes  nothing  of  telling  how,  from  the  chaos  of  atoms  moving 
in  void,  the  present  cosmos  sprang  into  being.  It  is  simply  on 
this  wise  :  One  moving  atom   had   some   slight,  very  slight. 


1 62  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

deflection — whence  received,  does  not  appear — from  its 
straight  course,  and  so,  impinging  on  a  fellow  atom,  adhered 
thereto — why  adhered,  is  left  unsaid — or  else,  bounding  off 
repelled,  attached  itself  to  its  neighbor  on  the  other  side. 
Thus  at  length  by  chance  the  infinite  multitude  of  individual 
atoms  arranged  themselves  into  the  existing  order  of  the  uni- 
verse. "A  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms,"  and  no  god,  did 
the  whole  business  for  Lucretius  then;  as  the  great  principle 
of  "  evolution,"  and  no  God,  does  the  whole  business  now — for 
some.  And  of  these  two  attempts  to  solve  the  problem  of 
the  universe,  one  perhaps  is  as  truly  philosophical  as  the 
other. 

The  affinities — it  may  in  passing  be  said — by  which  the  Lu- 
cretian  or  Epicurean  atomic  theory  of  the  universe  is  allied 
with  modern  science,  in  some  of  its  schools,  are  too  obvious 
to  need  specific  pointing  out.  Such  affinities  are,  no  doubt, 
in  part  apparent  only,  and  in  so  far  illusory.  But  it  remains 
true  that  for  philosophers,  or  scientists  so-called,  of  the 
atheistic  and  materialistic  sort,  Lucretius — as  philosopher, 
not  poet — is  well  entitled  to  enjoy,  after  long  neglect,  his 
signal  rehabilitation  in  acceptance  and  currency. 

We  cannot  undertake  to  expound  Lucretius  in  anything 
like  fullness,  even  of  abstract.  The  result  of  such  an  under- 
taking would  by  necessity  be  insufferably  tedious  and  barren. 
Lucretius  had  a  shrewd,  sagacious,  penetrative  intelligence, 
but  tliat  intelligence  sowed  itself  once  lor  all  on  wind,  when 
it  accepted  the  Epicurean  philosophy  as  the  key  to  the  mys- 
tery of  being.  A  melancholy  waste  of  intellect  and  genius 
misdirected — such,  to  thoughtful  minds,  seems  the  spectacle 
displayed  in  the  De  Rerum  Natura  of  Lucretius. 

By  way  of  exemplifying,  as  we  pass,  the  degree  of  poetic 
quality  achieved  by  the  Latin  poet  in  the  general  tenor  of  his 
expository  verse,  we  offer  a  single  stanza  of  Mr.  Mallock's 
translation,  wherein,  true  to  his  original,  the  translator  se- 
verely follows  for  once  the  line  of  mere  hard  definition  and 


Lucretius.  163 

statement.     Readers  will  see   from  this  how  admirably  bare 
of  [)octry  very  good  didactic  verse  can  be  made  : 

That  is  a  property,  which  cannot  be 
Disjoined  from  a  thing  and  separate 

Without  the  said  thing's  death.     Fluidity 
Is  thus  a  property  of  water  ;  weight 

Is  of  a  stone.     Whilst  riches,  poverty, 
Slavery,  freedom,  concord,  war  and  hate, 

Which  change,  and  not  inhere  in  things  of  sense, 

We  name  not  properties,  but  accidents. 

That  characteristically  Roman  sentiment,  desire  of  death- 
less literary  fame,  is  acknowledged  by  Lucretius,  in  the  fol- 
lowing strain  of  genuine,  nay,  of  exquisite,  poetry.  The  poet 
has  been  avowing  his  sense  of  the  difficulty  of  his  subject ; 
"  yet,"  he  says  : 

Yet  my  heart,  smarting  with  desire  for  praise, 
Me  urges  on  to  sing  of  themes  like  these, 

And  that  great  longing  to  pour  forth  my  lays 
Constrains  me,  and  the  loved  Pierides, 

Whose  pathless  mountain-haunts  I  now  explore. 

And  glades  where  no  man's  foot  has  fallen  befqre. 

Ah  sweet,  ah  sweet,  to  approach  the  untainted  springs, 
And  quaff  the  virgin  waters  cool  and  clear, 

And  cull  the  flowers  that  have  been  unknown  things 
To  all  men  heretofore  !  and  yet  more  dear 

Wiien  mine  shall  be  the  adventurous  hand  that  brings 
A  crown  for  mine  own  brows,  from  places  where 

The  Muse  has  deigned  to  grant  a  crown  for  none. 

Save  for  my  favored  brows,  and  mine  alone. 

Such  a  passage  as  that,  presenting  the  writer  in  the  char- 
acter of  conscious  and  confessed  poetical  aspirant — "garland 
and  singing  robes  about  him  " — almost  makes  one  give  up 
holding  that  Lucretius  was  in  aim  and  ambition  pre-emi- 
nently philosopher.  That  passage  at  least  reads  quite  like 
the  authentic  outburst  of  a  distinctively  and  predominantly 
poetic  aspiration  pent  up  in  the  breast  of  the  man. 


164  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Toward  the  end  of  book  first,  Lucretius  reaches,  in  a 
kind  of  resumption  of  his  argument,  the  following  statement 
of  his  theory  of  atoms  and  void  : 

For  blindly,  blindly,  and  without  design, 

Did  these  first  atoms  their  first  meetings  try ; 

No  ordering  thought  was  there,  no  will  divine 

To  guide  them  ;  but  through  infinite  time  gone  by 

Tossed  and  tormented  they  essayed  to  join. 

And  clashed  through  the  void  space  tempestuously, 

Until  at  last  that  certain  whirl  began. 

Which  slowly  formed  the  earth  and  heaven  and  man. 

The  second  book  opens  with  a  celebrated  passage.  This 
is  that  reflection  of  Lucretius,  promised  our  readers,  on  the 
pleasure  with  which  one  in  safety  on  the  shore  sees  a  ship 
wrestling  with  storm  in  the  sea.  We  give,  along  with  the 
reflection  itself,  enough  of  the  succeeding  context  to  make 
plain  the  object  which  the  reflection  was  introduced  to  serve  : 

'Tis  sweet  when  tempests  roar  upon  the  sea 
To  watch  from  land  another's  deep  distress 

Amongst  the  waves — his  toil  and  misery  : 
Not  that  his  sorrow  makes  our  happiness, 

But  that  some  sweetness  there  must  ever  be 
Watching  what  sorrows  we  do  not  possess: 

So,  too,  'tis  sweet  to  safely  view  fi-om  far 

Gleam  o'er  the  plains  the  savage  ways  of  war. 

But  sweeter  far  to  look  with  purged  eyes 

Down  from  the  battlements  and  topmost  towers 

Of  learning,  those  high  bastions  of  the  wise, 
And  far  below  us  see  this  world  of  ours, 

The  vain  crowds  wandering  blindly,  led  by  lies, 
Spending  in  pride  and  wrangling  all  their  powers. 

So  far  below — the  pi2;my  toil  and  strife. 

The  pain  and  piteous  rivalries  of  life. 

O  peoples  miserable !     O  fools  and  blind  ! 

What  night  you  cast  o'er  all  the  days  of  man! 
And  in  that  night  before  you  and  beliind 

What  perils  prowl  !     But  you  nor  will  nor  can 


Lucretius.  165 

See  that  the  treasure  of  a  tranquil  mind 

Is  all  that  Nature  pleads  for,  for  this  span, 
So  that  between  our  birth  and  grave  we  gain 
Some  quiet  pleasures,  and  a  pause  from  pain. 

In  the  following  stanza,  removed  from  those  just  quoted  by 
only  a  short  interval,  a  genuine  feeling  for  the  beauty  of 
nature  will  be  recognized,  feeling  such  as  was  not  com- 
mon in  the  literary  world  before  Lucretius — in  fact,  a  mod- 
ern-seeming sentiment,  a  quality  almost  Wordsworthian  : 

The  grass  is  ours,  and  sweeter  sounds  than  these, 
As  down  we  couch  us  by  the  babbling  spring, 

And  overhead  we  hear  the  branching  trees 

That  shade  us,  whisper ;  and  for  food  we  bring 

Only  the  country's  simple  luxuries. 

Ah,  sweet  is  this,  and  sweetest  in  the  spring. 

When  the  sun  goes  through  all  the  balmy  hours. 

And  all  the  green  earth's  lap  is  filled  with  flowers  ! 

The  love  of  nature  thus  exemplified  from  Lucretius  maybe 
said  to  constitute  in  him  almost  a  characteristic  trait.  Virgil 
might  conceivably  have  written  his  descriptions  from  pictures 
of  what  he  describes.  Lucretius  could  not  have  written  his 
descriptions  otherwise  than  directly  from  nature  herself. 

But  we  should  fail  to  make  readers  appreciate  the  relation 
in  which  these  gleams  of  poetry  shown  stand  to  the  general 
tenor  of  the  text  that  contains  them,  if  we  did  not  at  the 
same  time  exhibit  at  least  a  specimen  or  two  of  the  scientific 
discussions  and  explanations  composing  the  main  tissue  of 
Lucretius's  work. 

Our  poet-philosopher  applies  his  atomic  theory  to  explain 
the  origin  and  reason  of  different  tastes  to  the  palate.  The 
different  tastes  are  due  to  the  different  shapes  of  the  atoms 
of  which  the  sapid  substances  consist.  Lucretius  (accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Munro) : 

The  liquids  honey  and  milk  excite  a  pleasant  sensation  of  tongue 
when  held  in  the  mouth  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  nauseous  nature  of 


1 66  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

wormwood  and  of  harsh  centaury  writhes  the  mouth  with  a  noisome 
flavor  ;  so  that  you  may  easily  see  that  the  things  which  are  able  to  af- 
fect the  senses  pleasantly,  consist  of  smooth  and  round  elements  ;  while  all 
those,  on  the  other  hand,  which  are  found  to  be  bitter  and  harsh,  are  held 
in  connexion  by  particles  that  are  more  hooked  and  for  this  reason  are 
wont  to  tear  open  passages  into  our  senses,  and  in  entering  in  to  break 
through  the  body. 

Lucretius  blithely  undertakes  to  tell  a  great  secret  of  the 
universe.  "  Let  us  now  sing,"  he  says — we  make  a  long  skip 
forward  to  the  fifth  book,  to  find  this  extract — "  Let  us  now 
sing  what  causes  the  motions  of  the  stars  :  " 

In  the  first  place,  if  the  great  sphere  of  heaven  revolves,  we  must  say 
that  an  air  presses  on  the  pole  at  each  end  and  confines  it  on  the  out- 
side and  closes  it  in  at  both  ends  ;  and  then  that  a  third  air  streams 
above  and  moves  in  the  same  direction  in  which  roll  on  as  they  shine 
the  stars  of  the  eternal  world  ;  or  else  that  this  third  air  streams  below 
in  order  to  caiTy  up  the  sphere  in  the  contrary  direction  ;  just  as  we  see 
rivers  turn  wheels  and  water-scoops.  It  is  likewise  quite  possible  too 
that  all  the  heaven  remains  at  rest,  while  at  the  same  time  the  glittering 
signs  are  carried  on  ;  either  because  rapid  heats  of  ether  are  shut  in  and 
whirl  round  while  seeking  a  way  out  and  roll  their  fires  in  all  directions 
through  heaven's  vast  quarters  ;  or  else  an  air  streaming  from  some  part 
from  another  source  outside  drives  and  whirls  the  fires  ;  or  else  they  may 
glide  on  of  themselves  going  whithersoever  the  food  of  each  calls  and 
invites  them,  feeding  their  flamy  bodies  everywhere  throughout  heaven. 
For  which  of  these  causes  is  in  operation  in  this  world,  it  is  not  easy  to 
afiirm  for  certain  ;  but  what  can  be  and  is  done  throughout  the  universe 
in  various  worlds  formed  on  various  plans,  this  I  teach,  and  I  go  on  to 
set  forth  several  causes  which  may  exist  throughout  the  universe  for  the 
motions  of  stars  ;  one  of  which  however  must  in  this  world  also  be  the 
cause  that  imparts  lively  motion  to  the  signs  ;  but  to  dictate  which  of 
them  it  is,  is  by  no  means  the  duty  of  the  man  who  advances  step  by 
step. 

Memmius,  that  friend  of  the  poet  to  whom  the  poem  is 
inscribed  and  addressed,  must  have  felt  embarrassingly  free 
to  choose,  among  so  many  proffered  alternatives  of  explanation 
— all  about  equally  good.  If  he  was  of  a  poetical  turn,  as 
there  is  grave  reason  to  fear  he  was  not,  he  probably  pre- 


Lucretius.  167 

ferred — we  do,  we  confess — among  the  various  conjectures 
projiosed  by  Lucretius,  the  pleasing  bucolic  view  of  the  case, 
the  idea,  namely,  that  the  stars  are  at  large  in  a  kind  of 
celestial  pasture,  that  they  "glide  on  of  themselves,  going 
whitiiersoever  the  food  of  each  calls  and  invites  them,  feed- 
ing their  flamy  bodies  everywhere  throughout  heaven." 

The  intrepid  poet  does  not  shrink  from  attacking,  in  the 
sixth  book,  the  problem  of  thunder  and  lightning.  He  pro- 
ceeds on  an  easier  plan  than  that  adopted  so  long  after  by 
Franklin.  Instead  of  going  out  in  a  thunder-storm,  to  try, 
as  Franklin  did,  a  dangerous  experiment  with  the  clouds, 
Lucretius  retires  into  the  safe  recesses  of  his  own  mind  and 
evolves  his  explanation  on  a  priori  principles.  If  the  facts  of 
nature  chanced  not  to  correspond  with  the  theory,  why,  so 
much  the  worse  for  the  facts.  In  the  case,  however,  of  Lu- 
cretius, the  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling,  must  have  seen 
things  in  the  sky  that  perhaps  escaped  the  ken  of  the  more 
practical  American  philosopher.  Otherwise,  how  could  the 
poet  have  described,  with  such  power  as  is  displayed  in  the 
passage  we  are  about  to  quote  .''  (It  is  uniformly  the  incom- 
parable prose  translation  of  IMunro,  whenever  the  form  is 
prose  in  which  we  present  Lucretius.)  One  imagines  Mem- 
mius  "  burning  with  higli  hope  "  of  true  enlightenment  at 
last,  as  he  reads  the  fair  and  fine  promise  of  explanation,  and 
no  mistake  this  time,  with  which  his  poet-friend  committed 
himself  in  the  prefatory  words  now  following  : 

And  now  in  what  way  these  [thunderbolts]  are  begotten  and  are 
formed  with  a  force  so  resistless  as  to  be  able  with  their  stroke  to  burst 
asunder  towers,  throw  down  houses,  wrench  away  beams  and  rafters, 
and  cast  down  and  burn  up  the  monuments  of  men,  to  strike  men  dead, 
prostrate  cattle  far  and  near,  by  what  force  they  can  do  all  this  and  the 
like,  I  will  make  clear  and  will  not  longer  detain  you  with  mere  pro- 
fessions. 

Thunderbolts  we  must  suppose  to  be  begotten  out  of  dense  clouds 
piled  up  higli ;  for  they  are  never  sent  fortli  at  all  when  the  sky  is  clear 
or  when  the  clouds  are  of  a  slight  density.  .  .   . 


1 68  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

I  have  shown  above  [in  a  passage  not  here  reproduced]  that  hollow 
clouds  have  very  many  seeds  of  heat,  and  they  must  also  take  many  in 
from  the  sun's  rays  and  their  heat.  On  this  account  when  the  same  wind 
which  happens  to  collect  them  into  any  one  place,  has  forced  out  many 
seeds  of  heat  and  has  mixed  itself  up  with  that  fire,  then  the  eddy  of 
wind  forces  a  way  in  and  whirls  about  in  the  straitened  room  and  points 
the  thunderbolt  in  the  fiery  furnaces  within  ;  for  it  is  kindled  in  two  ways 
at  once :  it  is  heated  by  its  own  velocity  and  from  the  contact  of  fire. 
After  that,  when  the  force  of  the  wind  has  been  thoroughly  heated  and 
the  impetuous  power  of  the  fire  has  entered  in,  tlien  the  thunderbolt 
fully  forged,  as  it  were,  suddenly  rends  the  cloud,  and  their  heat  put  in 
motion  is  carried  on  traversing  all  places  with  flashing  lights.  Close 
upon  it  follows  so  heavy  a  clap  that  it  seems  to  crush  down  from  above 
the  quarters  of  heaven  which  have  all  at  once  sprung  asunder.  Then  a 
trembling  violently  seizes  the  earth  and  rumblings  i^un  through  high 
heaven  ;  for  the  whole  body  of  the  storm  then  without  exception  quakes 
with  the  shock  and  loud  roarings  are  aroused.  After  this  shock  follows 
so  heavy  and  copious  a  .rain  that  the  whole  ether  seems  to  be  turning 
into  rain  and  then  to  be  tumbling  down  and  returning  to  a  deluge;  so 
great  a  flood  of  it  is  discharged  by  the  bursting  of  the  cloud  and  the 
storm  of  wind,  when  the  sound  flies  forth  from  the  burning  stroke.  At 
times  too  the  force  of  the  wind  aroused  from  without  falls  on  a  cloud 
hot  with  a  fully  forged  thunderbolt ;  and  when  it  has  burst  it,  forthwith 
there  falls  down  yon  fiery  eddying  whirl  which  in  our  native  speech  we 
call  a  thunderbolt.  .   .  . 

The  velocity  of  thunderbolts  is  great  and  their  stroke  powerful,  and 
they  run  through  their  course  with  a  rapid  descent,  because  their  force 
when  aroused  first  in  all  cases  collects  itself  in  the  clouds  and  gathers 
itself  up  for  a  great  effort  at  starting  ;  then  when  the  cloud  is  no  longer 
able  to  hold  the  increased  moving  power,  their  force  is  pressed  out  and 
therefore  flies  with  a  marvellous  moving  power,  like  to  that  with  which 
missiles  are  carried  when  discharged  from  powerful  engines.  Then  too 
the  thunderbolt  consists  of  small  and  smooth  elements,  and  such  a  nat- 
ure it  is  not  easy  for  any  thing  to  withstand  ;  for  it  flies  between  and 
passes  in  through  the  porous  passages  ;  therefore  it  is  not  checked  and 
delayed  by  many  collisions,  and  for  this  reason  it  glides  and  flies  on 
with  a  swift  moving  power.  .  .  . 

It  passes  too  through  things  without  injuring  them,  and  leaves  many 
things  quite  whole  after  it  has  gone  througli,  because  the  clear  bright  fire 
flics  through  by  the  pores.  And  it  breaks  to  pieces  many  things,  when 
the  first  bodies  of  the  thunderbolt  have  fallen  exactly  on  the  first  bodies 


Lucretius.  169 

1 . 

of  these  tilings,  at  the  points  where  they  are  intertwined  and  held  to- 
gether. Again  it  easily  melts  brass  and  fuses  gold  in  an  instant,  be- 
cause its  foice  is  foimed  of  bodies  minutely  small  and  of  smooth  ele- 
ments, which  easily  make  their  way  in  and  when  they  are  in,  in  a  moment 
break  up  all  the  knots  and  untie  the  bonds  of  union. 

It  has  gone  with  us  much  against  the  grain,  to  condense  at 
all  the  powerful  passage  from  which  the  foregoing  extracts 
have  been  taken.  Lucretius  certainly  had  a  genius  for  de- 
scription more  magnificent  than  Virgil  could  boast — more 
magnificent,  perhaps,  than  any  other  ancient  poet  whatever. 
It  must,  we  think,  be  evident  to  every  reader,  that  the  poet 
tends  often  to  get  the  better  of  the  philosopher,  with  Lucre- 
tius. The  complacency,  however,  with  which  Lucretius  re- 
garded his  treatment  of  the  present  matter  considered  as 
pure  science,  is  unmistakable: 

This  is  the  way  to  see  into  the  true  nature  of  the  thunderbolt  and  to 
understand  by  what  force  it  produces  each  effect. 

Through  a  page  or  so  following,  Lucretius  laughs  merci- 
lessly at  the  idea  of  Jupiter's  being  launcher  of  thunderbolts 
— Jupiter,  and  his  fellow-Olympians.  "Why  aim  they  at 
solitary  places,"  he  asks,  "and  spend  their  labor  in  vain.? 
Or  are  they  then  practicing  their  arms  and  strengthening 
their  sinews.?"  It  reads  not  unlike  Elijah  chaffing  the 
prophets  of  Baal.  We  wish  we  had  room  to  give  here  the 
raking  and  riddling  fire  of  sarcastic  interrogation  with  which, 
at  his  leisure,  Lucretius  pursues  and  persecutes  his  afflicted 
theme.  He  triumphs  and  glories  in  jubilant  atheism — more 
exactly,  in  rioting  anti-Olympianism.  Mr.  Sellar,  in  his  "  Ro- 
man Poetry  of  the  Republic  "  (and  in  his  "  Roman  Poetry  of 
the  Empire,"  as  well,  comparing  Virgil  with  Lucretius,  and 
exploring  the  indebtedness  of  the  former  to  the  latter),  gives 
large  space  to  the  discussion  of  the  De  Rerum  Natura.  We 
observe  that  Mr.  Sellar  is  inclined,  as  we  ourselves  have 
been,  to  shrink  from  imputing  positive  atheism  to  Lucretius. 


lyo  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

It  is  to  "  the  gods,"  rather  than  to  God,  that  Lucretius  oj)- 
poses  himself  so  fiercely. 

We  could  present  explanations  more  whimsical,  and  there- 
fore more  amusing,  than  those  which  we  have  selected  ;  but 
we  have  no  disposition  to  make  apparently  ridiculous  a  writer 
inherently  so  worthy  of  respect,  as  is  this  great  Roman  poet. 
Atheist  he  was ;  but  the  gods  whom  he  denied  were  the  gods 
of  Olympus.  He  hated  religion  ;  but  the  religion  that  he 
hated  was  the  hateful  religion  of  Greece  and  of  Rome.  Who 
can  say  how  Lucretius  might  have  borne  himself  toward  the 
unknown  God,  had  there,  in  his  time,  been  the  apostle  Paul 
to  declare  to  him  that  God  ;  how  Lucretius  might  have  borne 
himself  toward  Christianity,  could  he  have  met,  in  Christian- 
ity, a  system  of  doctrine  not  less  intensely, — and  so  much  more 
effectively  ! — hostile  to  Olympianism  than  was  the  Lucretian 
philosophy  itself.'' 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Lucretius  was  a  thorough-paced 
materialist.  Death  with  him  ended  all.  Powerful,  and  drear- 
ily powerful,  not  untouched  with  pathos,  is  the  strain  in 
which  he  announces  and  reasons  this  dreadful  creed — as  will 
amply  show  the  following  stanzas  of  translation  by  Mr. 
Mallock  : 

Death  is  for  us  then  but  a  noise  and  name. 
Since  the  mind  dies,  and  liurts  us  not  a  jot ; 

And  as  in  bygone  times  when  Carthage  came 
To  battle,  we  and  ours  were  troubled  not, 

Nor  heeded  though  the  whole  earth's  shuddering  frame 
Reeled  with  the  stamp  of  armies,  and  the  lot 

Of  things  was  doubtful,  to  which  lords  should  fall 

The  land  and  seas  and  all  the  rule  of  all ; 

So,  too,  when  we  and  ours  shall  be  no  more, 
And  there  has  come  the  eternal  separation 

Of  flesh  and  spirit,  which,  conjoined  before, 
Made  us  ourselves,  there  will  be  no  sensation  ; 

We  should  not  hear  were  all  the  world  at  war ; 
Nor  shall  we,  in  its  last  dilapidation, 


Lucretius.  171 

When  the  heavens  fall,  and  earth's  foundations  flee: 
We  shall  nor  feel,  nor  hear,  nor  know,  nor  see. 

That  indestructible  instinct  in  man,  by  virtue  of  which  he 
divinely  "  doubts  against  the  sense,  "  and,  in  spite  of  appear- 
ance, still  dreams  of  "  soul  surviving  breath,"  Lucretius  rec- 
ognizes, and  deals  with,  as  follows  : 

Perplexed  he  argues,  from  the  fallacy 

Of  that  surviving  self  not  wholly  freed. 
Hence  he  bewails  his  bitter  doom — to  die  ; 

Nor  does  he  see  that  when  he  dies  indeed, 
No  second  he  will  still  remain  to  ciy, 

Watching  its  own  cold  body  burn  or  bleed. 
O  fool  !  to  fear  the  wild-beast's  ravening  claw, 
Or  that  torn  burial  of  its  mouth  and  maw. 

For  lo  !  if  this  be  fearful,  let  me  learn 

Is  it  more  fearful  than  if  friends  should  place 

Thy  decent  limbs  upon  the  pyre  and  burn 
Sweet  frankincense?  or  smother  up  thy  face 

With  honey  in  the  balm-containing  urn  ? 
Or  if  you  merely  lay  beneath  the  rays 

Of  heaven  on  some  cold  rock?  or  damp  and  cold 

If  on  thine  eyelids  lay  a  load  of  mold  ? 

'  Thou  not  again  shalt  see  thy  dear  home's  door, 
Nor  thy  dear  wife  and  children  come  to  throw 

Their  arms  round  thee,  and  ask  for  kisses  more, 
And  through  thy  heart  make  quiet  comfort  go  : 

Out  of  thy  hands  hath  slipped  the  precious  store 
Thou  hoardedst  for  thine  own,'  men  say,  '  and  lo, 

All  thou  desired  is  gone  ! '  but  never  say, 

'All  the  desire  as  well  hath  passed  away.' 

Ah,  could  they  only  see  this,  and  could  borrow 

True  words,  to  tell  what  things  in  death  abide  thee  ! 

'Thou  shalt  lie  soothed  in  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow, 
Nor  ever  cark  nor  care  again  betide  thee  : 

Friend,  thou  wilt  say  thy  long  good-bye  to  sorrow. 
And  ours  will  be  the  pangs,  who  weep  beside  thee, 

And  watch  thy  dear  familiar  body  burn, 

And  leave  us  but  the  ashes  and  the  urn.' 


172  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

How  different  that  from  the  "  divine  philosophy  "  of  the 
In  Memoriani  of  Tennyson  ! 

We  should  be  glad,  did  room  permit,  to  present  here,  for 
our  farewell  extract  from  the  Roman  poet,  the  important 
passage  in  which  Lucretius  versifies  the  famous  description 
given  by  Thucydides  of  the  great  plague  at  Athens.  With 
this  passage  of  translated  realistic  description,  unfinished,  the 
unfinished  poem  of  Lucretius,  advanced  to  near  the  close  of 
its  sixth  book,  abruptly  ends.  The  description  was  intro- 
duced by  way  of  illustrating  the  Lucretiau  theory  of  the 
propagation  of  disease  by  the  diffusion  of  germs,  seed-atoms 
— almost  an  anticipation  of  modern  medical  science  on  this 
subject — certainly  a  very  natural  application  of  the  Lucretian 
atomic  theory. 

We  just  now  suggested  a  contrast  between  Lucretius  and 
Tennyson.  But  the  real  contrast  lies  less,  perhaps,  between 
the  two  poets  themselves,  than  between  the  different  envi- 
roning moral  and  intellectual  atmospheres  in  which  the 
two  poets  lived  and  did  their  work.  Indeed,  Lucretius  and 
Tennyson  seem  almost  to  be  brethren  in  genius  and  temper- 
ament. Tennyson  is  perhaps  the  one  living  English  mind 
who  could,  by  exchange  of  time  and  place,  conceivably  have 
mingled  poetry  and  philosophy,  in  a  production  like  the  De 
Rerum  Natura  of  Lucretius. 

With  emphasis,  in  dismissing  the  subject  of  this  chap- 
ter, we  call  attention  to  the  remarkable  poem,  entitled  "  Lu- 
cretius," of  Tennyson.  For  the  full  understanding  of  that 
poem,  one  needs  to  remember  the  tradition  transmitted  by 
St.  Jerome,  the  Latin  Christian  father  (the  sole  tradition 
extant  concerning  Lucretius's  end),  to  the  effect  that  his  wife, 
jealous  of  him,  for  whatever  reason — perhaps  only  because  he 
made  himself  too  much  the  bridegroom  of  his  vocation  as  phi- 
losopher and  poet — resorted  to  a  professor  of  magic  arts  and 
procured  a  potion  supposed  of  power  to  win  for  herself  her 
husband's  love.     This  love-philter,  administered  without  the 


Lucretius.  173 

poet's  knowledge,  worked  a  madness  in  his  brain,  under  the 
influence  of  which,  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  at  forty-seven 
years  of  age,  lie  committed  suicide.  It  may  confidently  be 
said  that  the  man  most  deeply  studied  in  Lucretius's  own 
poetry,  will  be  the  man  most  deeply  impressed  with  the  mar- 
velous truth  and  power  of  the  English  poet's  work.  Tenny- 
son's whole  poem  is  worthy  of  the  most  studious  attention 
from  those  who  would  enter  into  the  secret  of  Lucretius. 
To  such  inquirers,  that  poem  will  prove  a  master-key  of 
interpretation  for  their  author,  supplied  by  a  great  and 
kindred  genius. 


V. 

HORACE. 


Horace  is  not  one  of  the  great  poets  of  the  world.  But 
he  is,  emphatically,  one  of  the  best  known.  He  does  not 
overawe  us  with  a  vastness  in  his  genius.  But  he  satisfies  us 
with  far-sought  perfection  in  his  workmanship.  If  Homer, 
if  Virgil,  if  Dante,  if  Milton,  are  each  like  a  great  statue, 
like  a  Phidian  Jove — Horace  is  like  an  exquisite  cameo,  de- 
lighting us,  not  with  mass,  but  with  fineness,  not  with  ma- 
jesty, but  with  grace.  His  lines  are  not  large,  but  tiiey 
are  clean  and  clear.  You  may  use  the  microscope  and  dis- 
cover no  flaw.  One  must  not  look  for  the  great  thought 
that  "strikes  along  the  brain  and  flushes  all  the  cheek."  To 
this  height  Horace  does  not  aspire.  One  must  not  even  look 
for  plenitude  and  variety  of  wisdom.  Horace  is  wise,  but 
he  is  narrowly,  he  is,  as  it  were,  penuriously,  wise.  He  is 
worldly-wise.  His  reflections  cling  faithfully  to  the  ground. 
Occasionally  there  is  a  bold  stretch  of  wing,  and  a  rising  as 
if  to  try  the  eagle's  flight.  But  the  poet  soon  recollects  him- 
self, and  descends,  with  conscious  grace  of  self-control,  to 
the  safe  lower  level  that  he  loves. 


174  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Horace's  odes  are,  many  of  them,  perhaps  the  most  of 
them,  occasional  poems.  Few  escape  the  quality  that  thus 
naturally  belongs  to  them  as  being  done  to  order.  They  are 
works  of  labor,  quite  as  much  as  works  of  love.  But  then 
Horace's  genius  was  so  well  trained,  so  obedient  to  its  owner's 
will,  that  there  is  no  revolt  at  task-work  apparent.  Deliber- 
ateness  almost  becomes  spontaneousness.  The  artist's  de- 
light in  execution  almost  becomes  equivalent  to  the  poet's 
delight  in  conception.     Art,  in  short,  is  nature,  with  Horace. 

It  follows  from  this  character  in  Horace,  that  he  suffers 
more  than  most  other  poets  from  translation.  There  is  not, 
and  there  cannot  be,  any  adequate  transcript,  in  another  lan- 
guage, of  his  verse.  Thought,  image,  you  can  translate,  but 
you  cannot  translate  form.  And  form  is  more,  than  is  any 
thing  besides  form,  in  Horace's  odes.  There  is  considerable 
monotony  of  topic  and  sentiment.  And  the  sentiments  that 
keep  recurring  are  not  very  numerous,  not  very  profound, 
not  very  novel.  They  are  in  truth  the  obvious,  the  com- 
monplace itself,  of  pagan  life.  '  Life  is  short,  is  uncertain. 
Death  ends  all.  It  is  not  best  to  fret.  Take  things  as  they 
come.  Be  contented.  Moderation  is  wisdom.  Keep  the 
golden  mean.  Wealth  will  not  make  you  happy.'  These 
ideas  revolve  constantly  into  view,  as  you  read  the  odes  of 
Horace.  But  you  do  not  see  them  in  this  bareness  and  bald- 
ness. As  in  a  kaleidoscope,  they  undergo  various  permuta- 
tion of  arrangement  and  they  take  on  beauty,  when  Horace 
sings  them  for  you  in  his  verse.  This  magician  in  metre 
could  go  on  repeating  himself  forever,  and  the  repetition 
should  never  weary  you.  You  would  scarcely  think  of  its 
being  repetition — this  continuous  flow  from  form  to  form 
of  the  same  ideas,  in  the  shaken  kaleidoscope  of  Horace's 
verse. 

The  experience  we  describe  belongs,  however,  exclusively 
to  the  man  reading  the  original  Latin  itself.  No  art  of  trans- 
lation  can   make  an  equivalent  experience  possible   to  the 


Horace.  175 

reader  of  Horace  in  English.  The  Latin  scholar  finds  the 
very  aspect  of  the  Horatian  verse  a  refection  to  the  eye.  It 
is  like  looking  at  the  fine  lines  of  a  perfect  medallion,  or  a 
gem  exquisitely  engraved.  Not  in  the  whole  course  of  this 
series  of  volumes,  has  been  encountered  any  author,  from 
whom  so  great  a  proportion  of  his  individual  quality  is  lost, 
as  is  lost  from  Horace,  in  an  English  translation.  A  dis- 
couraging statement,  do  you  say.?  Perhaps,  say  we  in  reply  ; 
but  one  obtains  a  truer  impression  of  Horace  by  knowing 
this,  to  begin  with,  about  him,  than  would  be  possible  with 
any  illusion  in  the  mind  of  the  contrary.  What  we  have 
said  applies,  however,  to  the  properly  lyrical  productions  of 
Horace.  His  satires  and  his  epistles  are  capable  of  being 
translated  with  less  loss. 

Horace  is  chiefly  his  own  biographer.  We  know  little, 
and  there  is  little  that  we  need  to  know,  of  his  life,  beyond 
what  his  writings  reveal.  Horace  is  a  perfectly  frank  egotist, 
the  best-bred  and  the  most  agreeable  of  the  tribe.  He  does 
not  scruple  to  write  himself,  anywhere  it  may  happen,  into 
his  verse.  His  audience  were  almost  all  of  them  personally 
known  to  the  poet.  He  met  them  familiarly,  at  the  court  of 
Augustus,  or  on  the  streets,  and  in  the  baths,  of  Rome.  He 
held  a  well-established  and  a  universally  recognized  position, 
as  the  laureate  of  the  empire  and  the  lyrist  and  the  satirist 
of  Roman  society.  His  natural  complaisance  was  well  sup- 
ported by  an  unperturbed  complacency.  He  went  smiling 
through  his  easy  and  fortunate  experience  of  life,  the  hap- 
piest, or  the  least  unhappy,  of  Romans.  He  was  a  courtier; 
but  never  was  courtier  compelled  to  pay  less  for  what  he 
enjoyed,  than  was  Horace.  To  Horace's  honor  let  it  be  also 
recorded,  that  never  perhaps  was  successful  courtier  less 
inclined  to  pay  any  thing  that  could  justly  be  judged  misbe- 
coming to  himself.  With  apparently  faultless  suavity  in  man- 
ner, he  maintained  an  entire  manliness  of  bearing  toward  his 
patron    Msecenas   and    his  emperor   Augustus.      It   reflects 


176  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

credit,  almost  equally,  both  upon  patronizer  and  patronized, 
this  admirable  relation,  steadfastly  sustained  on  the  one  side, 
and  scrupulously  respected  on  the  other,  between  the  freed- 
man  bachelor  poet  and  those  two  high-placed  formidable 
friends  of  his. 

Freedman,  we  say,  but  Horace  was  removed  by  one 
generation  from  the  freedman's  condition.  It  was  his  father 
that  had  once  been  a  slave  and  from  being  a  slave  had  been 
raised  to  a  freedman.  Horace  praised  his  father  with  rea- 
son. The  son  owed  much  to  the  father.  Freedman  though 
he  was,  the  elder  Horace  had  ideas  that  became  a  Roman 
citizen.  He  gave  his  boy  the  best  chance  that  Rome  could 
supply.  He  tasked  his  own  resources  to  situate  him  well 
and  to  educate  him  as  if  he  were  the  son  of  a  Roman  knight. 
According  to  the  easy  ethical  standard  that  prevailed  at 
Rome,  possibly  above  that  standard,  Horace's  father  and, 
after  him,  Horace,  seem  to  have  been  both  of  them  true  and 
good  men.  This  does  not  mean  that  bachelor  Horace  kept 
himself  unspotted,  either  in  life,  or  in  his  verse.  No,  he  did 
things,  and  he  wrote  things,  that  only  to  mention  would  now 
be  an  offense.  The  world  is  already  somewhat  better,  when 
it  is  under  sense  of  compulsion  to  seem  to  be  better.  And 
Christianity,  since  Horace's  time,  has  at  least  enforced  on 
vice  a  heavy  fine  in  the  form  of  fair  pretense.  Vice  must 
now  put  on,  however  loth,  a  mask  of  virtue. 

Horace,  as  a  young  man,  was  not  incapable  of  enthusiasm. 
He  experienced  an  attack  of  such  emotion,  at  the  time  when, 
Caesar  having  been  slain,  there  was  a  moment  of  promise 
that  the  Republic  would  be  restored.  He  joined  the  repub- 
licans and  fouglit  on  their  side  at  Philippi.  In  one  of  his 
odes,  he  alludes,  with  not  unthrifty  humor,  to  his  conduct  on 
the  occasion.  He  threvv  away  his  shield,  he  says,  and  ran 
for  dear  life.  In  such  frank  raillery  at  his  own  expense,  he 
had  i)erhaps  his  purpose.  His  republicanism,  he  would  have 
it  understood,  was  not  serious  enough  to  be  either  dangerous 


Horace. 


177 


or  offensive  to  the  conquerors.  Horace  left  the  ardor  of 
enthusiasm  behind  him  with  his  youth.  Never,  so  far  as 
we  know,  after  that  affair  at  Philippi,  did  he  do  any  thing  out 
of  the  safely  moderate  and  regular.  He  did  not  cravenly  fling 
away  his  spirit,  but  he  kept  his  spirit  in  good  training.  He  was, 
we  say,  a  prosperous  courtier;  still  he  remained  a  man  you 
could  respect.  If  Maecenas  hinted  to  him  that  be  did  not  show 
himself  enough  at  Rome,  Horace  replied,  with  perfect 
temper,  that  he  had  his  reasons,  and  that  he  would  rather 
resign  the  bounty  that  he  owed  to  the  grace  of  the  great 
minister,  than  leave  the  country  for  the  city  when  those 
reasons  forbade.  Maecenas  had  given 
him  a  modest  estate  of  land  in  the  Sa- 
bine country,  for  which  Horace — he 
having,  as  republican,  lost  his  all  through 
confiscation  —  was  properly  grateful  to 
his  patron.  He  addressed  Maecenas  in 
many  appreciative  and  laudatory  odes. 
He  paid  similar  tribute  to  Augustus; 
but  not  through  any  gracious  imperial 
condescension,  did  Augustus  prevail  to 
beguile  the  wary  poet  into  one  moment's 
perilous  parting  with  the  subject's  safe 
and  proper  distance  from  the  sovereign. 
Horace  basked  continuously  and  blessedly  in  the  sunshine 
of  court  favor,  never  once  pushed  off  for  discipline  into  the 
outward  cold,  but  also  never  once  tempted  too  near  into  the 
scorching  heat.  The  remaining  incidents  and  relations  of 
his  life  will  sufficiently  come  out,  by  occasion,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  pieces  that  we  shall  bring  forward  to  illustrate 
his  genius. 

Horace's  poems  are  classified  as  odes,  epodes,  satires,  and 
epistles.  ("  Epode  "  is  a  name  never  used  by  Horace  himself. 
Dr.  Frieze,  the  learned  professor  of  Latin  in  the  University 

of  Michigan,  in  a  private  note  to  the  present  writer,  explains 
8* 


M.i£CENAS. 


178  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

that  the  manuscript-multipliers,  after  QuiiUilian's  time, 
somewhat  loosely  gave  the  name  of  epodes  to  the  whole 
series  of  Horace's  satirical  lyrics,  from  the  general  resem- 
blance of  these  poems  to  the  epodic  poems  of  the  Greek 
Archilochus,  which  latter  were  characterized  by  a  metrical 
peculiarity  consisting  either  of  a  short  line  [eTrwdof,  "  add- 
song  or  appended  verse  "]  following  a  longer,  or  else  of  a 
mixed  line  following  one  purely  iambic). 

The  odes  are  most  of  them  very  short.  Those,  for  in- 
stance, of  the  first  book  (there  are  four  books  in  all)  average 
hardly  more  than  five  stanzas,  four  lines  to  the  stanza,  apiece. 
A  book  of  Horace's  odes  would  thus,  for  average  length  of 
the  pieces  contained  in  it,  be  somewhat  like  a  volume  of 
Watts's  or  Wesley's  hymns  as  originally  written.  The  stanza 
is  prevailingly  either  Sapphic  or  Alcaic.  Horace  was  like 
Roman  writers  generally  in  being  open  debtor  to  the  Greek. 
He  subdued  the  difficult  metres  he  borrowed,  with  signal 
success,  to  his  use. 

The  first  ode  is  inscribed  to  Maecenas.  It  is  not  boldly 
eulogistic,  though,  all  the  more  agreeably,  eulogy  is  implied. 
It  simply  says,  '  Every  man  to  his  taste  ;  I,  for  my  part,  like 
to  make  verses.  Rank  me  thou,  Maecenas,  among  thy  lyric 
bards,  and  I  shall  be  supremely  proud  and  happy.' 

The  second  ode  is  a  tribute  to  Caesar  Augustus.  In  it 
occurs  the  famous  phrase,  so  faniiliar  in  quotation,  Senis  in 
caelum  redeas !  ('  Late  return  thou  to  the  skies!  ')  The  em- 
peror is  begged  by  the  poet  indulgently  to  cherish  a  fond- 
ness for  being  styled  fatlier  and  prince  to  his  people. 

The  third  ode  is  addressed  to  the  ship  that  was  to  bear 
Virgil  setting  out  for  Athens.  The  wind  is  charged  to  bring 
him  safely  home.  It  takes  but  two  stanzas  out  of  the  ten 
composing  the  ode,  to  express  adequately  this  sentiment  of 
the  poet's.  The  other  eight  stanzas  are  occupied  with  the 
suggested  idea  of  the  daring  of  man  in  attempting  navigation 
of  the  dreadful  sea.     There   is  no  return   to  what,  from  the 


Horace.  179 

title  of  the  ode,  should  seem  the  proper  controlling  motive  to 
the  poem.  We  venture  to  think  the  ode  wanting  in  unity 
and  consistency  of  interest.  It  breatlies  perhaps  of  Pindar, 
in  its  bold  following  of  far  suggestion.  Here  are  the  two 
opening  stanzas,  those  in  which  alone  there  is  allusion  to 
Virgil.  We  give  them  in  the  version  of  Dr.  Philip  Francis, 
an  admirable,  and  formerly  a  very  popular,  work: 

So  may  the  Cyprian  queen  divine, 
And  the  twin  stars  with  saving  lustre  shine ; 

So  may  the  father  of  the  wind 
All  others,  but  the  western  breezes,  bind. 

As  you,  dear  vessel,  safe  restore 
Th'  intrusted  pledge  to  the  Athenian  shore. 

And  of  my  soul  the  partner  save. 
My  much-loved  Virgil,  from  the  raging  wave. 

Tennyson,  in  the  In  Memoriam,  similarly  apostrophizes  the 
ship  to  which  was  consigned,  for  restoration  to  England, 
the  dust  of  his  dead  friend,  Arthur  Henry  Hallam.  Read- 
ers will  find  the  parallel  interesting.  The  two  poems 
finely  illustrate  tlie  contrast  between  the  characteristically 
modern,  and  the  characteristically  ancient,  spirit  in  poetry. 
Wordsworth's  noble  sonnet  of  farewell  to  Walter  Scott 
bound  to  Italy  from  Scotland,  is  another  interesting  paral- 
lel to  this  ode  of  Horace's. 

Horace's  odes  have  offered  a  subject  always  very  tempting 
to  translators.  We  doubt  whether  any  English  version  of  his 
works  entire  is,  on  the  whole,  superior  to  that  of  Dr.  Francis. 
But  every  age  has  to  do  its  own  work  in  this  kind.  Fashions 
in  literature  are  very  changeful  and  fleeting.  Already  Dr. 
Francis  is  a  little  obsolete.  Mr.  Theodore  Martin — Sir 
Theodore,  we  may  call  him  now — has  translated  Horace's 
works,  and  done  it  well.  But  his  version  has  the  serious  fault 
of  diluting  the  characteristic  concentration  of  the  original 
poet.  It  has  too,  here  and  there,  such  technical  faults  as 
naturally  attach — we   may  perhaps    without    offense   in  the 


i8o  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

present  case  say  it — to  any  workmanship  but  the  highest  in 
verse.  For  instance,  in  the  first  stanza  of  the  ode  just 
cited,  it  rhymes  "  Helen  "  with  "  quelling."  Professor  Con- 
ington,  whose  prose  version,  and  whose  version  in  verse,  of 
Virgil  are  beyond  praise  admirable,  has  given  us  the  odes  of 
Horace  in  good  translation — good,  but  by  no  means  supreme- 
ly felicitous.  The  satires  and  ei)istles  he  has  not,  we  be- 
lieve, translated.  There  is,  besides,  a  translation  of  Horace 
from  the  versatile  and  industrious  hand  of  Buhver-Lytton. 
This,  though  highly  creditable  to  the  Englishman's  scholar- 
ship and  skill,  is  rather  elaborate  than  successful.  Its  fatal 
lack  is  lack  of  rhythm  and  lyrical  flow.  On  the  whole,  we 
shall  adopt  the  plan  of  going  about  from  English  hand  to 
hand,  to  cull  the  best  that  may  be  found  for  each  particular 
case  as  it  arises.  There  is,  it  should  be  added,  a  prose  ver- 
sion, in  purpose  strictly  literal  (enriched  with  copious  in- 
structive notes  from  a  different  source)  by  Mr.  Smart.  This 
is  accessible  in  a  cheap  American  reprint  from  the  press  of 
the  Harpers.  It  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  mission  that 
Horace,  by  eminence  among  all  ancient  poets,  has  fulfilled, 
in  furnishing  exercise  and  solace  to  cultivated  minds  the 
most  variously  placed,  if  we  mention  further  a  version  here, 
a  version  in  metre,  of  his  odes,  produced  by  Captain  Henry 
Hubbard  Pierce,  U.  S.  A.  This  version  was  published 
posthumously,  only  last  year,  under  the  loyal  supervision  of 
the  gifted  author's  wife.  It  adds  to  its  own  proper  attrac- 
tions the  charm  of  a  choicely  written  introductory  letter  to 
the  translator,  from  his  accomplished  former  instructor  in 
Latin,  Professor  Henry  S.  Frieze.  Professor  Frieze  con- 
gratulates his  friend  on  achieving  the  ''''first  American  trans- 
lation "  of  Horace's  odes.  There  is  not  wanting  a  certain 
pathetic  associative  spell  of  remoteness,  in  the  date  which 
the  translator  affixes  to  his  preface  :  "  Head-quarters,  Twenty- 
first  Infantry,  Vancouver  Barracks,  W.  T." 

The  fourth  ode  furnishes  one  of  those  familiar  quotations 


Horace.  1 8 1 

of  which  Horace  is  a  famously  abundant  source  of  supply 
to  literature.  There  is  a  solemn  roll,  as  of  muffled  drums,  a 
solemn  beat,  as  of  slow  footsteps  keeping  time,  in  the  rhythm 
of  the  original  verse,  which  no  translation  reproduces.  We 
are  not  sure  but  plain  prose  translation,  closely  literal,  will 
here  be  the  best  reflex  of  Horace's  sense  and  sound  :  "Pale 
death,  with  equal  foot,  knocks  at  the  cottages  of  the  poor  and 
at  the  palaces  of  kings."  The  sentiment  indeed  is  common- 
place, but  the  Horatian  expression  seems  to  the  Latinist  in- 
imitable. Professor  Tyler,  in  his  incomparable  "History  of 
American  Literature,"  cites  from  John  Wise,  forgotten  Pu- 
ritan minister  of  Mather's  time,  1717, — forgotten,  but  most 
worthy,  by  his  noble  gift  of  utterance,  to  have  been  remem- 
bered and  admired — a  passage  in  which  that  great  preacher 
evidently  recalls  his  Horace.  With  fine  rhetorical  freedom 
of  paraphrase,  "  Death,"  he  says,  "observes  no  ceremony,  but 
knocks  as  loud  at  the  barriers  of  the  court  as  at  the  door  of 
the  cottage." 

The  next  ode  is  one  of  Horace's  amatory  pieces.  These, 
in  general,  are  justly  not  very  pleasing  to  the  modern 
taste.  Horace  seemed  to  know  nothing  of  women,  except  by 
the  less  favorable  specimens  of  their  sex.  The  fifth  ode, 
however,  is  a  comparatively  innocent  erotic  effusion.  It  en- 
joys exceptional  English  fame  from  having  been  translated 
by  Milton.  Milton's  Puritan  conscience  and  imagination 
have  unconsciously  almost  moralized  the  ode  in  rendering  it. 
No  English  translator  of  Horace  can  ever  pass  this  ode  of 
his  poet,  without  dipping  his  colors  to  Milton  as  he  goes  by. 
In  his  earlier  editions.  Professor  Conington  simply  adopted 
Milton's  rendering,  without  attempting  any  independent 
version  of  his  own.  Mr.  Theodore  Martin,  incidentally  in  a 
note,  calls  Milton's  rendering  an  "overrated  "  piece  of  w-ork 
— a  judgment,  on  his  part,  rather  bold  than  wise.  Here  is 
Milton's  version — a  little  difficult  perhaps,  but  not  more  dif- 
ficult than  the  orisiinal  : 


1 82  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

What  slender  youth,  bedew'd  with  liquid  odours. 
Courts  thee  on  roses  in  some  pleasant  cave, 

Pyrrha?     For  whom  bind'st  thou 
In  wreaths  thy  golden  hair. 
Plain  in  thy  neatness  ?     O,  how  oft  shall  he 
On  faith  and  changed  gods  complain,  and  seas" 

Rough  with  black  winds,  and  storms 

Unwonted,  shall  admire  ! 
Who  now  enjoys  thee  credulous,  all  gold. 
Who  always  vacant,  always  amiable 

Hopes  thee,  of  flattering  gales 

Unmindful.      Hapless  they 
To  whom  thou  untried  seem'st  fair  !     Me  in  my  vow'd 
Picture,  the  sacred  wall  declares  to  have  hung 

My  dank  and  drooping  weeds 

To  the  stern  god  of  sea. 


Milton's  version  is  remarkably  close  and  literal.  In  dis- 
pensing with  rhyme,  it  follows  the  original.  Its  observable 
similarity  to  the  Latin,  in  metre  and  in  stanza,  is  an  illusion, 
but  an  effective  illusion.  It  works  its  effect  to  the  reader, 
through  his  eye,  rather  than  through  his  ear. 

We  shall  give  later  another  specimen  or  two  of  Horace's 
erotic  verse.  We  may  here  remark  that  one  ode  in  par- 
ticular, of  this  species,  presents  the  writer  in  a  light  that  is 
even  hideously  repulsive.  It  taunts  a  faded  fair  with  the 
loss  of  her  bloom,  in  a  strain  of  brutality,  not,  v/e  grieve  to 
say,  so  peculiar  to  ancient  Roman  and  pagan  morals  and 
manners,  but  that  a  parallel  could  be  found  in  modern,  and 
nominally  Christian,  English  literature.  The  coarseness  and 
the  selfishness  which  disfigure  this  ancient  poem,  belong,  we 
judge,  to  sensuality  as  sensuality,  whatever  may  happen  to 
be  the  age  of  the  sensuality,  or  its  race,  or  its  surrounding 
atmosphere.  Several  pieces  of  Horace  are  so  undisguisedly 
gross  that  the  English  translator,  even  be  his  conscience 
tolerably  free  from  squeam,  is  obliged  to  omit  them  entirely. 

Horace,  with  just    self-judgment,  disclaims   aspiration  to 


Horace.  1 83 

epic  dignity  for  his  muse  —  as  follows  (Mr.  Martin  inter- 
preter): 

Such  themes,  Agrippa,  never  hath 

My  lyre  essay'd,  nor  Ijold 
Pelicies'  unrelenting  wrath, 
Nor  artfullest  Ulysses'  path 

O'er  oceans  manifold  ; 

Nor  woes  of  Pelops'  fated  line  ; 

Sucli  flights  too  soaring  are  ! 
Nor  dolh  my  bashful  Muse  incline, 
Great  Csesar's  eulogies  and  thine 

With  its  thin  notes  to  mar. 

Heart-whole,  or  pierced  by  Cupid's  sting, 

In  careless  mirthfulness, 
Of  banquets  we,  and  maidens  sing. 
With  nails  cut  closely  skirmishing, 

When  lovers  hotly  press. 

Probably  Horace  here  was  consciously  jocular,  in  part,  at 
his  own  expense,  writing  with  a  sudden  surprising  turn  or 
drop,  at  last,  in  tone,  for  humorous  effect.  "  With  nails  cut 
closely,"  is  a  somewhat  enigmatical  phrase.  Some  take  it 
for  pure  pleasantry,  soine  as  being  metaphorically  expressive 
of  neat  literary  finish. 

A  parallel,  interesting  for  coincidence  as  well  as  for  con- 
trast, is  that  between  odes  of  invitation,  like  the  ninth  of 
Horace,  first  book  (also  the  twelfth,  fourth  book),  and  the 
sonnets  of  invitation  by  Milton,  inscribed  respectively,  "  To 
Mr.  Laurence "  and  "  To  Cyriack  Skinner."  Horace  (ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Martin  again)  : 

Pile  up  fresh  logs  upon  the  hearth. 

To  thaw  the  nipping  cold, 
And  forth  from  Sabine  jar,  to  wing 
Our  mirth,  the  ruddy  vine-juice  bring 

Four  mellowing  summers  old. 


184  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


Let  not  to-morrow's  change  or  chance 

Perplex  thee,  but  as  gain 
Count   each  new  day  !     Let  beauty's  glance 
Engage  thee,  and  the  merry  dance, 

Nor  deem  such  pleasures  vain  ! 

The  other  ode  of  invitation  jtist  mentioned  is  additionally 
interesting  as  being  addressed  to  Virgil.  Virgil  and  Horace 
were  fast  friends.  Tennyson's  epistolary  poem  to  his  friend, 
F.  D.  Maurice,  may  also  be  compared.  Horace  half-play- 
fully,  half  in  good  earnest,  conditions  his  invitation  to  Virgil. 
Virgil  must  bring  some  rare  perfume,  to  pay  for  the  rich 
wine  that  will  be  broached  on  the  occasion  at  Horace's  ex- 
pense. The  Romans  were  as  fond  of  fragrance,  as  of  flavor, 
at  their  feasts.     Horace  now  (translated  by  Mr.  Martin) : 

Yes,  a  small  box  of  nard  from  the  stores  of  Sulpicius 

A  cask  shall  elicit,  of  potency  rare 
To  endow  with  fresh  hopes,  dewy-bright  and  delicious, 

And  wash  from  our  hearts  every  cobweb  of  care. 

If  you'd  dip  in  such  joys,  come — the  better  the  quicker  ! — 
But  remember  the  fee — for  it  suits  not  my  ends. 

To  let  you  make  havoc,  scot-free,  with  my  liquor. 
As  though  I  were  one  of  your  heavy-pursed  friends. 

To  the  winds  with  base  lucre  and  pale  melancholy  ! — 
In  the  flames  of  the  pyre  these,  alas!  will  be  vain, 

Mix  your  sage  ruminations  with  glimpses  of  folly, — 
'Tis  delightful  at  times  to  be  somewhat  insane  ! 

Milton  unbends  in  a  manner  very  different  from  the  fore- 
going. His  conscience  never  lets  up  even  in  his  most  relaxed 
literary  moods.  Horace  did  not  keep  a  conscience.  He 
was  simply  a  man  of  honor,  as  the  world  went,  the  world  of 
his  day  and  place. 

We  shall  not  have  room  in  this  volume  to  make  a  separate 
presentation  of  the  poet  Catullus.     ("  No  Latin  writer  is  so 


Horace.  1 85 

Greek,"  says  Macaulay  in  his  Journal.)  We,  therefore,  with 
a  sense  of  satisfaction  in  making  some  compensation  for  that 
unavoidable  defect,  give  here  a  graceful  bit  of  pleasantry, 
gracefully  translated  by  Mr.  Martin,  out  of  Catullus's  bright, 
but  not  too  i)ure,  poetic  productions.  It  is  a  witty  invitation 
to  dinner,  with  the  guest  festively  warned  to  bring  his  own 
fare : 

You  dine  with  me,  dear  Argentine, 

On  Friday  next,  at  lialf  past  two  ; 
And  I  can  promise  that  you'll  dine 

As  well  as  man  need  wish  to  do — 
If  you  bring  with  you,  when  you  come 

A  dinner  of  the  very  best, 
And  lots  of  wine,  and  mirth,  and  some 

Fair  girl,  to  give  the  whole  a  zest. 
*Tis  if  you  bring  these — mark  me  now  ! 

That  you're  to  have  the  best  of  dinners, 
For  your  Catullus'  purse,  I  vow, 

Has  nothing  in't  but  long-legged  spinneis. 
But  if  you  don't,  you'll  have  to  fast 
On  simple  welcome  and  thin  air ; 
And,  as  a  sauce  to  our  repast, 

I'll  treat  you  to  a  perfume  rare  ; — 
A  perfume  so  divine,  'tis  odds, 

When  you  have  smelt  its  fragrance,  whether 
You  won't  devoutly  pray  the  gods. 

To  make  you  straight  all  nose  together. 

Another  poem  to  Virgil,  very  different  from  the  one  last  quot- 
ed, is  the  famous  twenty-fourth  ode  of  the  first  book — a  lyric  of 
sorrow  and  consolation,  on  occasion  of  the  death  of  a  com- 
mon beloved  friend.  There  is  not,  there  cannot  be,  any 
adequate  rendering  of  this  fine  ode.  "  What  shame  sliould 
there  be,  or  limit,  to  the  sense  of  loss  indulged  for  so  dear  a 
head.?" — thus  Horace  begins.  "So  then  Quinctilius,  the 
perpetual  slumber  plies  !  "  "  Quinctilius — to  him,  ah,  when 
will  Purity,  and — sister  she  to  Justice — inviolate  Faith,  and 
Truth  unclad,  find  ever  any  equal  "i  "     How  bald,  how  harsh, 


1 86  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

the  literal  English  of  the  consummate  Latin  looks!  The 
charm  dwells  in  the  first  perfect  form.  It  is  felt  there  by  the 
scholar,  but  it  is  not,  we  suppose,  transferable  thence  to  any- 
other  than  he.  We  have  known  an  inimitably  fine  effect  to 
be  produced  by  apt  quotation  of  the  first  two  stanzas,  un- 
translated, of  this  ode,  for  an  occasion,  the  academic  atmos- 
phere of  which  made  the  classic  Latin  itself  appropriate. 

A  very  vengeful  allusion  to  Cleopatra — vengeful,  but  re- 
lenting at  last  into  Roman  admiration  of  the  spirit  she  dis- 
played in  her  disaster,  in  daring  suicidal  death  as  preferable 
to  the  disgrace  of  being  driven  in  triumph  through  the  streets 
of  Rome — occurs  in  the  thirty-seventh  of  the  first  book  of 
odes.  It  will  remind  our  readers  of  Tennyson's  stanzas  on 
the  same  subject,  in  his  Dream  of  Fair  Women.  Here  are 
the  concluding  stanzas  (according  to  Dr.  Francis)* 

With  fearless  hand  she  dared  to  grasp 

The  writhings  of  the  wrathful  asp, 

And  suck  the  poison  through  her  veins, 
Resolved  on  death,  and  fiercer  from  its  pains. 

Then  scorning  to  be  led  the  boast 

Of  mighty  Cesar's  naval  host, 

And  arm'd  with  more  than  mortal  spleen, 
Defrauds  a  triumph,  and  expires  a  queen. 

The  monotone,  of  what  we  may  paradoxically  call  the 
Horatian  optimistic  pessimism,  comes  out  strikingly  in  an  ode 
to  Dellius,  the  third  of  the  second  book.  'Let  the  thought  of 
death  impending  keep  your  mind  even,  between  opposite 
extremes,  of  depression  and  elation,'  is  the  sentiment  of  the 
poem.  In  reading  the  brief  passage  about  to  be  given,  one 
should  remember  that  the  ancient  custom  was  to  cast  lots  by 
placing  the  names  of  the  persons  concerned  in  a  vessel  and 
shaking  them  smartly  together,  until  some  name  should  leap 
out.  The  boat  spoken  of  is  the  boat  in  which  Charon  ferried 
the  dead  across  the  river  Styx  to  the  land  of  "eternal  exile." 
"We  are  all  of  us  driven  the  one   way   [Omnes  eodem  cog- 


Horace.  187 

i»iur) ;  for  us  all,  is  shaken  in  the  urn  the  lot  sooner  or  later 
destined  to  issue  forth  and  us  for  our  eternal  exile  to  em- 
bark upon  the  boat."  But  again  it  is  the  Horatian  form, 
not  the  commonplace  Horatian  thought,  that  gives  its  value 
to  the  verse. 

The  tenth  of  the  second  book  is  too  characteristic  of  the 
writer,  too  good  in  itself,  too  celebrated,  and  it  has  been  by 
the  poet  Co\vp£;r  too  happily  translated,  not  to  be  given  by  us 
here  entire.     It  is  a  eulogy  of  the  "  golden  mean  ": 

Receive,  clear  friends,  the  truths  I  teach, 
So  shall  thou  live  beyond  the  reach 

Of  adverse  Fortune's  power  ; 
Not  always  tempt  the  distant  deep, 
Nor  always  timorously  creep 

Along  the  treacherous  shore. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean 
And  lives  contentedly  between 

The  little  and  the  great, 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor, 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door, 

Imbittering  all  his  state. 

The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  power 
Of  wintry  blasts  ;  the  loftiest  tower 

Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground  ; 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  side 
His  cloud-capt  eminence  divide, 

And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

The  well-informed  philosopher 
Rejoices  with  a  wholesome  fear, 

And  hopes  in  spite  of  pain  ; 
If  winter  bellow  from  the  north 
Soon  the  sweet  spring  comes  dancing  forth, 

And  Nature  laughs  again. 

What  if  thine  heaven  be  overcast  ? 
The  dark  appearance  will  not  last  ; 


1 88  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
The  god  that  strings  a  silver  bow 
Awakes  sometimes  the  Muses  too, 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 

If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way, 
Thy  magnanimity  display, 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen  : 
But  O  !   if  Fortune  fill  thy  sail 
With  more  than  a  propitious  gale, 

Take  half  thy  canvas  in. 

Christian  Cowper  was  unable  to  translate  so  earth-bound 
a  poetic  philosophy  of  life  as  the  foregoing,  without  being 
moved  to  monitory  reflection.  He  moralizes,  in  a  rhymed 
sequel,  as  follows : 

And  is  this  all?  Can  Reason  do  no  more 

Than  bid  me  shun  the  deep  and  dread  the  shore  ? 

Sweet  moralist  !  afloat  on  life's  rough  sea, 

The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee  : 

He  holds  no  parley  with  unmanly  fears  ; 

Where  duty  bids  he  confidently  steers. 

Faces  a  thousand  dangers  at  her  call. 

And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  all. 

In  the  eleventh  of  the  second  book  of  odes,  appears  a 
touch,  a  mere  touch,  on  the  topic  of  advancing  old  age,  that 
reminds  one,  by  subtle  association,  of  our  own  half-Horatian 
American  poet  of  occasions,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  We  all 
know  the  humorous-pathetic  fondness  of  Dr.  Holmes's  verse 
for  this  theme.  And  then,  besides,  the  convivial  spirit  here 
conjoined  is  not  alien  to  the  parallel.  Horace  (according  to 
Mr.  Martin)  : 


Say,  why  should  we  not,  flung  at  ease  'neath  this  pine, 
Or  a  plane-tree's  broad  umbrage,  quaff  gayly  our  wine, 

While  the  odours  of  Syrian  nard  and  the  rose 

Breathe  sweet  from  locks  tipp'd,  and  just  tipp'd,  with  Time's  snows. 


Horace.  189 

There  is  not  perhaps  in  literature  any  better  brother  to 
the  genius  of  Horace  than  is  the  genius  of  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes.  The  same  light  touch,  the  same  monotone  of  sen- 
timent, the  same  variety  of  treatment,  the  same  gay  spirit 
sustaining  the  same  capacity  of  sadness,  the  same  curious 
felicity  of  word  and  phrase,  the  same  finish  of  art,  belong  to 
both  poets  alike. 

It  was  one  of  the  fortunes  of  Horace's  life  to  escape  death, 
on  a  certain  occasion,  very  narrowly,  from  the  accidental 
falling  of  a  tree.  He  makes  the  occurrence  the  subject  of 
an  ode,  the  thirteenth  of  the  second  book.  The  opening 
stanzas  are  maledictory.  He  thinks  the  planter  of  that  tree 
must  have  been  a  man  of  many  crimes,  actual  or  potential. 
After  an  imaginary  list  of  such,  he  says  (Theodore  Martin) : 

All  this  he  must  have  done — or  could — 

I'm  sure — the  wretch,  that  stuck  thee  down, 
.  Thou  miserable  stump  of  wood, 

To  topple  on  thy  master's  crown, 
Who  ne'er  designed  thee  any  harm, 
Here  on  my  own,  my  favorite  farm. 

A  strain  follows,  of  higher  mood  : 

How  nearly  in  her  realms  of  gloom 

I  dusky  Proserpine  had  seen, 
Seen  ^acus  dispensing  doom. 

And  the  Elysian  fields  serene, 
Heard  Sappho  to  her  lute  complain 
Of  unrequited  passion's  pain: 

Heard  thee,  too,  O  Alcjeus,  tell, 

Striking  the  while  thy  golden  lyre, 
With  fuller  note  and  statelier  swell. 

The  sorrows  and  disasters  dire 
Of  warfare  and  the  ocean  deep. 
And  those  that  far  in  exile  weep. 

While  shades  round  either  singer  throng, 

And  the  deserved  tribute  pay 
Of  sacred  silence  to  their  song, 

Yet  chiefly  crowd  to  hear  the  lay 


I  go  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Of  battles  old  to  story  known, 
And  haughty  tyrants  overthrown. 

What  wonder  tliey,  their  ears  to  feast, 

Should  thickly  throng,  when  by  these  lays 

Entranced,  the  hundred-headed  beast 
Drops  his  black  ears  in  sweet  amaze, 

And  even  the  snakes  are  charmed,  as  they 

Among  the  Furies'  tresses  play. 

Nay   even  Prometheus,  and  the  sire 

Of  Pelops,  cheated  of  their  pains, 
Forget  awhile  their  doom  of  ire 

In  listening  to  the  wondrous  strains  ; 
Nor  doth  Orion  longer  care 
To  hunt  the  lynx  or  lion  there. 

Allusion  to  this  nigh-fatal  tree  recurs  often  throughout  the 
odes. 

In  the  fifteenth  of  the  second  book  of  odes,  Horace  ap- 
pears as  upbraider  of  his  own  degenerate  times.  He  in- 
veighs against  the  growing  luxury  of  private  landscape  gar- 
dening and  architecture.     Theodore  Martin  renders: 

It  was  not  so  when  Romulus 

Our  greatness  fostered  in  its  prime, 
Nor  did  our  great  forefathers  thus. 

In  unshorn  Cato's  simple  time. 

Men's  private  fortunes  then  were  low. 

The  public  income  great ;  in  these 
Good  times  no  long-drawn  portico 

Caught  for  its  lord  the  northern  breeze. 

Nor  did  the  laws  our  sires  permit 

Sods  dug  at  random  to  despise 
As  for  their  daily  homes  unfit ; 

And  yet  they  bade  our  cities  rise 

More  stately  at  the  public  charge. 

And  did,  to  their  religion  true, 
The  temples  of  the  gods  enlarge. 

And  with  fair-sculptured  stone  renew. 


Horace.  i  g  i 

There  is  a  note  struck  here  that  rings  in  the  sense  like  that 
querulous  line  of  Wordsworth, 

Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more  ! 

The  first  ode  of  the  third  book,  entitled  "In  Praise  of  Con- 
tentment," is  in  part  a  very  fine  variation  of  this.  But  the 
motive  of  the  poem  last  alluded  to — it  is  a  motive  familiar 
with  Horace — is  different.  See  the  following  extracts  from 
Martin's  rendering: 

Ye  rabble  rout,  avaunt  ! 

Your  vulgar  din  give  o'er, 
Whilst  I,  the  Muses'  own  hierophant, 
To  the  pure  ears  of  youths  and  virgins  chant 

In  strains  unheard  before  ! 


The  fish  are  conscious  that  a  narrower  bound 

Is  drawn  the  seas  around 
By  masses  huge  hurl'd  down  into  the  deep  ; 

There  at  the  bidding  of  a  lord,  for  whom 
Not  all  the  land  he  owns  is  ample  room, 
Do  the  contractor  and  his  laborers  heap 
Vast  piles  of  stone,  the  ocean  back  to  sweep. 
But  let  him  climb  in  pride, 

That  lord  of  halls  unblest, 

Up  to  his  lordly  nest, 
Yet  ever  by  his  side 

Climb  Terror  and  Unrest ; 
Within  the  brazen  galley's  sides 

Care,  ever  wakeful,  flits. 
And  at  his  back,  when  forth  in  state  he  rides, 

Her  withering  shadow  sits. 

If  thus  it  fare  with  all  ; 
If  neither  marbles  from  the  Phrygian  mine 
Nor  star-bright  robes  of  purple  and  of  pall 

Nor  the  Falernian  vine, 
Nor  costliest  balsams,  fetch'd  from  farthest  Ind, 

Can  soothe  the  restless  mind  ; 


192 


College  Latin  Course  hi  English. 


Why  should  I  choose 
To  rear  on  high,  as  modern  spendthrifts  use, 

A  lofty  hall,  might  be  the  home  for  kings, 
With  portals  vast,  for  Malice  to  abuse, 
Or  Envy  make  her  theme  to  point  a  tale  ; 

Or  why  for  wealth,  which  new-born  trouble  brings, 
Exchange  my  Sabine  vale  ? 

One  of  the  happiest  bits  of  Mr.  Martin's  workmanship 
chances  to  coincide  with  one  of  the  most  characteristic,  and 
one  of  the  best,  felicities  of  the  original  master  himself.  We 
take  a  few  stanzas  out  of  the  sixteenth  of  the  second  book 

of  odes :...-. 

He  lives  on  little,  and  is  blest, 
On  whose  plain  board  the  bright 
Salt-cellar  shines,  which  was  his  sires'  delight, 

Nor  terrors,  nor  cupidity's  unrest. 
Disturb  his  slumbers  light. 

Wliy  should  we  still  project  and  plan. 

We  creatures  of  an  hour? 

Why  fly  from  clime  to  clime,  new  regions  scour? 
Where  is  the  exile,  who,  since  time  began, 

To  fly  from  self  had  power? 

Fell  care  climbs  brazen  galleys'  sides  ; 
Nor  troops  of  horse  can  fly 
Her  foot,  which  than  the  stag's  is  swifter,  ay, 

Swifter  than  Eurus,  when  he  madly  rides 
The  clouds  along  the  sky. 

Careless  what  lies  beyond  to  know. 
And  turning  to  the  best 
The  present,  meet  life's  bitters  with  a  jest. 

And  smile  them  down  ;  since  nothing  here  below 
Is  altogether  blest. 

In  manhood's  prime  Achilles  died, 

Tithonus  by  the  slow 

Decay  of  age  was  wasted  to  a  show. 
And  Time  may  what  it  hath  to  thee  denied 

On  me  perchance  bestow. 


Horace.  193 

To  me  a  farm  of  modest  size, 

And  slender  vein  of  song, 

Such  as  in  Greece  flowed  vigorous  and  strong, 
Kind  fate  hath  given,  and  spirit  to  despise 

The  base,  malignant  throng. 

There  is  Horace's  philosophy  of  life,  all  of  it  summed  up 
for  you  in  a  single  ode. 

The  celebrated  Warren  Hastings  was  a  man  of  sufficient 
classic  and  literary  culture  to  amuse  himself  gracefully  in 
turning  an  ode  of  Horace  into  English  v^erse.  Relieved 
against  the  somewhat  lurid  light  with  which  the  eloquent 
invective  of  impeachment  has  surrounded  his  fame,  the  fol- 
lowing stanzas,  from  his  rendering  of  the  ode  last  shown  our 
readers,  possess  a  personal  interest  not  without  pathos. 
Hastings  was  on  his  home  voyage  from  Bengal,  in  1785,  when 
he  made  this  translation.  He  was  coming  unawares  to  the 
great  trial  that  was  so  nearly  to  cost  him  his  all.  The  trans- 
lation was  addressed  to  a  friend  of  the  author's,  Mr.  Shore : 

Short  is  our  span  ;  then  why  engage 

In  schemes,  for  which  man's  transient  age 

Was  ne'er  by  fate  design'd  ? 
Why  slight  the  gifts  of  Nature's  hand  ? 
What  wanderer  from  his  native  land 

E'er  left  himself  behind? 

To  ripen'd  age  Clive  lived  renown'd. 
With  lacs  enrich'd,  with  honours  crown'd, 

His  valour's  well-earn'd  meed. 
Too  long,  alas  !  he  lived,  to  hate 
His  envied  lot ;  and  died  too  late 

From  life's  oppression  freed. 

For  me,  oh  Shore  !  I  only  claim 
To  merit,  not  to  seek  for  fame  ; 

The  good  and  just  to  please  : 
A  state  above  the  fear  of  want ; 
Domestic  love.  Heaven's  choicest  grant, 

Health,  leisure,  peace,  and  ease. 


194  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

The  translation  is  a  paraphrase  rather  than  a  translation. 
The  substitution  of  Clive's  name  for  that  of  Tithonus,  was  a 
freedom  justified  by  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  Hast- 
ings knew  that  he  too  himself  had  enemies,  though  he  did 
not  know  to  what  extremities  of  self-defense  they  would, 
in  no  long  time,  reduce  him. 

With  the  epicurean's  optimistic  pessimism  exemplified  in 
the  foregoing  ode,  Horace  united  the  Roman's  thirst  for 
posthumous  fame.  And  of  posthumous  fame,  an  immortality 
of  it,  Horace  was,  in  his  own  mind,  not  less  sure,  than  was 
contemporary  Ovid.  The  twentieth  of  the  second  book,  in- 
scribed "  To  Maecenas,"  deals  with  this  topic,  expressing 
boldly  the  poet's  confidence  of  his  own  future  renown.  We 
take,  however,  a  shorter  variation  on  the  same  theme,  the 
thirtieth  of  the  third  book,  a  still  more  celebrated  ode  of 
Horace's,  which  is  well  rendered  by  Mr.  Martin: 

I've  reared  a  monument,  my  own, 

More  durable  than  brass, 
Yea,  kingly  pyramids  of  stone 

In  height  it  doth  surpass. 

Rain  shall  not  sap,  nor  driving  blast 

Disturb  its  settled  base. 
Nor  countless  ages  rolling  past 

Its  symmetry  deface. 

I  shall  not  wholly  die.     Some  part 

Nor  that  a  little,  shall 
Escape  the  dark  destroyer's  dart, 

And  his  grim  festival. 

For  long  as  with  his  Vestals  mute 

Rome's  Ponlifex  shall  climb 
The  Capitol,  my  fame  shall  shoot 

Fresh  buds  through  future  time. 

Where  brawls  loud  Aufidus,  and  came 

Parcii'd  Daunus  erst,  a  horde 
Of  rustic  boors  to  sway,  my  name 

Shall  be  a  household  word  ; 


Horace.  195 

As  one  who  rose  from  mean  estate, 

The  first  with  poet  fire 
iEolic  song  to  modulate 

To  the  Italian  lyre. 

Then,  grant,  Melpomene,  thy  son 

Thy  guerdon  proud  to  wear, 
And  Delphic  laurels  duly  won 

Bind  thou  upon  my  hairl 

The  Dulce  ei  decorufn  est  pro  patria  mori,  so  familiar  a  quo- 
tation of  patriotism,  is  a  sentiment  of  Horace,  occurring  in  the 
second  of  the  third  book  of  odes.     The  whole  ode  is  very  fine. 

There  is  no  loftier  moral  height  touched  anywhere  by  the 
wing  of  the  Horatian  muse,  than  that  of  the  opening  of  the 
third  ode  of  the  third  book.  Justum  et  tenaceffi  propositi  vi- 
rufn,  is  the  lordly  first  line.  How  it  fills  the  mouth  that 
utters  it !  The  sound  is  almost  enough  to  convey  the  sense, 
even  to  English  ears  unskilled  of  Latin,  Here  is  Mr.  Mar- 
tin's resonant  rendering  of  the  first  two  stanzas  : 

He  that  is  just,  and  firm  of  will 

Doth  not  before  the  fury  quake 
Of  mobs  that  instigate  to  ill, 
Nor  hath  the  tyrant's  menace  skill 

His  fixed  resolve  to  shake  : 

Nor  Auster,  at  whose  wild  command 

The  Adriatic  billows  dash. 
Nor  Jove's  dread  thunder-launching  hand. 
Yea,  if  the  globe  should  fall,  he'll  stand 

Serene  amidst  the  crash. 

("  Auster  "  is  the  name  of  a  wind.) 

Professor  Moses  Stuart,  in  an  eloquent  pamphlet  written 
to  vindicate  Daniel  Webster  against  the  obloquy  that  assailed 
him  during  the  closing  period  of  his  patriotic  career,  finely 
quoted  in  its  sonorous  original  Latin — to  describe  that  great 
statesman's  position  and  character — the  magnificent  first 
stanza  of  the  foregoing  ode. 


I  if  6 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


Like,  in  the  lofty  Roman  spirit  of  it,  is  the  fifth  of  book 
third,  which  sings  Regulus.  Livy,  become  lyrist,  might 
have  written  such  an  ode.  The  story  of  Regulus  will  be  re- 
called by  our  readers.  Taken  prisoner 
by  the  Carthaginians  in  the  First  Punic 
War,  he  was,  after  years  of  captivity, 
dispatched  to  Rome  (under  his  promise 
to  return,  if  unsuccessful  in  his  embas- 
sy) charged  from  his  captors  to  recom- 
mend peace  on  conditions  humiliating 
to  his  country.  He  stoutly  advised  his 
countrymen  to  reject  the  terms  pro- 
posed. Returning  to  Carthage,  he  was, 
with  cruel  torture,  put  to  death.  This 
latter  part  of  the  story  of  Regulus  is 
now  not    generally  credited.       Horace  regulus. 

makes  fine  use  of  the  proud,  if  in  part  doubtful,  tradition. 
We  again  let  Mr.  Martin  translate  for  us.  He  certainly  does 
upon  occasion  take  fire  from  his  original,  and  kindle  into 
true  poet's  flame.  Horace  has  just  bemoaned  the  poltroon 
degeneracy  of  his  countrymen  : 


Ah,  well  he  feared  such  shame  for  us, 
The  brave,  far-seeing  Regulus, 
When  he  the  vile  conditions  spurn'd. 
That  might  to  precedent  be  turn'd, 
With  ruin  and  disaster  fraught 
To  after  times,  should  they  be  taught 
Another  creed  than  this, — "  They  die 
Unwept,  who  brook  captivity  !  " 


"I've  seen,"  he  cried,  "  our  standards  hung 
In  Punic  fanes,  our  weapons  wrung 
From  Roman  hands  without  a  blow  ; 
Our  citizens,  I've  seen  them  go 
With  arms  behind  their  free  backs  tied. 
Gates  I  have  seen  flung  open  wide, 


Horace.  loj 


Ay,  Roman  troops  I've  seen  disgraced 
To  till  the  plains  they  had  laid  waste  ! 

"  Will  he  return  more  brave  and  bold, 
The  soldier  you  redeem  with  gold? 
You  add  but  loss  unto  disgrace. 
Its  native  whiteness  once  efface 
With  curious  dyes  ;  you  can  no  more 
That  whiteness  to  the  wool  restore  ; 
Nor  is  true  valor,  once  debased, 
In  souls  corrupt  to  be  replaced  ! 

"  If  from  the  tangled  meshes  freed, 
The  stag  will  battle,  then  indeed 
May  he  conspicuous  valor  show, 
Who  trusted  the  perfidious  foe, — 
He  smite  upon  some  future  field 
The  Carthaginian,  who  could  yield 
In  fear  of  death  his  arms  to  be 
Bound  up  with  thongs  submissively  ! 
Content  to  draw  his  caitiff  breath. 
Nor  feel  such  life  is  worse  than  death! 
O  shame!  O  mighty  Carthage,  thou 
On  Rome's  fallen  glories  towerest  now  !  " 

From  his  chaste  wife's  embrace,  they  say. 
And  babes,  he  tore  himself  away. 
As  he  had  forfeited  the  right 
To  clasp  them  as  a  freeman  might ; 
Then  sternly  on  the  ground  he  bent 
His  manly  brow  ;  and  so  he  lent 
Decision  to  the  senate's  voice. 
That  paused  and  waver'd  in  its  choice. 
And  forth  the  noble  exile  strode, 
Whilst  friends  in  anguish  lined  the  road. 

Noble  indeed  !  for,  though  he  knew 
What  tortures  that  barbarian  crew 
Had  ripe  lor  him,  he  waved  aside 
The  kin  that  did  his  purpose  chide, 
The  thronging  crowds,  that  strove  to  stay 
His  passage,  with  an  air  as  gay. 


19B  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


As  though  at  close  of  some  decree 

Upon  a  client's  lawsuit  he 

Its  dreary  coil  were  leaving  there, 

To  green  Venafrum  to  repair 

Or  to  Tarentum  s  breezy  shore 

Where  Spartans  built  their  town  of  yore. 

We  shall  supply  a  lively  contrast  to  the  tense  high  strain 
of  the  preceding  odes,  by  introducing  here  the  ninth  of  the 
third  book.  This  is  an  Am-oe-be'an  ode,  so-called — one,  that 
is,  composed  of  alternately  responsive  stanzas.  It  is  a  very 
famous  little  piece.  It  will  indicate  the  variety  of  genius 
and  character  that  Horace  has,  in  every  age,  attracted  to 
illustrate  his  verse — at  the  same  time  exhibiting  our  ode  in  a 
really  fine  version  of  it — if  we  take  Bishop  Atterbury's  ren- 
dering, not  obsolete,  though  executed  so  long  ago  as  1700: 

Ho7'ace.  While  I  was  fond,  and  you  were  kind, 
Nor  any  dearer  youth,  reclined 
On  your  soft  bosom,  sought  to' rest, 
Phraates  was  not  half  so  bless'd. 

Lydia.  While  you  ador'd  no  other  face. 

Nor  loved  me  in  the  second  place, 
My  happy  celebrated  fame 
Outshone  e'en  Ilia's  envied  flame, 

H.  Me  Chloe  now  possesses  whole, 

Her  voice  and  lyre  command  my  soul ; 
Nor  would  I  death  itself  decline. 
Could  her  life  ransom'd  be  with  mine. 

L.  For  me  young  lovely  Calais  burns. 

And  warmth  for  warmth  my  heart  returns. 
Twice  would  I  life  with  ease  resign. 
Could  his  be  ransom'd  once  with  mine. 

H.  What  if  sweet  love,  whose  bands  we  broke, 
Again  should  tame  us  to  the  yoke  ; 
Should  banished  Chloe  cease  to  reign, 
And  Lydia  her  lost  power  regain  ? 


Horace.  199 

L.   Tliougli  Hespeiub  be  less  fair  than  he, 
Thou  wilder  than  the  raging  sea, 
Lighter  than  down  ;  yet  gladly  I 
With  thee  would  live,  with  thee  would  die. 

With  the  foregoing  may  appropriately  be  associated,  to 
complete  our  exhibition  of  Horace  in  the  amatory  vein,  his 
hymn  to  Venus,  the  first  of  the  fourth  book  of  odes.  This 
ode,  Ben  Jonson  has  rendered.  We  go  back  just  a  century 
from  Bishop  Atterbury  to  reach  his  date.  Readers  now  will 
have  to  allow  for  some  archaism,  and  some  manneristic 
quaintness  of  expression.  Mr.  Martin  adopts  Ben  Jonson 's 
version,  modifying  and  modernizing  it  to  make  it  more  harmo- 
nious with  his  own  individual  manner  in  translating  and  vers- 
ifying. Our  readers,  we  judge,  will  like  better  to  see  "  rare 
Ben  Jonson "  as  he  actually  was,  than  as  Mr.  Martin  im- 
proves him : 

Venus,  againe  thou  mov'st  a  warre 

Long  intermitted  ;  pray  thee,  pray  thee  spare : 

I  am  not  such  as  in  the  reigne 

Of  the  good  Cynara  I  was  ;  refraine, 

Sower  mother  of  sweet  loves,  forbeare 

To  bend  a  man,  now  at  his  fiftieth  yeare 

Too  stubborne  for  commands  so  slack  : 

Goe  where  youth's  soft  entreaties  call  thee  back. 

More  timely  hie  thee  to  the  house, 

With  thy  bright  swans,  of  Paulas  Maximus : 

There  jest  and  feast,  make  him  thine  host, 

If  a  fit  liver  thou  dost  seeke  to  toast ; 

For  he's  both  noble,  lovely,  young. 

And  for  the  troubled  clyent  fyls  his  tongue. 

Child  of  a  hundred  arts,  and  farre 

Will  he  display  the  ensines  of  thy  warre, 

And  when  he  smiling  finds  his  grace 

With  thee  'bove  all  his  rivals'  gifts  take  place, 

He  will  thee  a  marble  statue  make. 

Beneath  a  sweet-wood  roofe  neere  Alba  lake : 

There  shall  thy  dainty  nostrill  take 

In  many  a  gumme,  and  for  thy  soft  eare's  sake 


200  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Shall  verse  be  set  to  harpe  and  lute, 

And  Phrygian  hau'boy,  not  without  the  flute. 

There  twice  a  day  in  sacred  laies, 

The  youths  and  tender  maids  shall  sing  thy  praise, 

And  in  the  Salian  manner  meet 

Thrice  'bout  thy  altar  with  their  ivory  feet. 

Me  now,  nor  wench,  nor  wanton  toy. 

Delights,  nor  credulous  hope  of  mutuall  joy, 

Nor  care  I  now  healths  to  propound. 

Or  with  fresh  flowers  to  girt  my  temples  round. 

But  why,  oh,  why,  my  Ligurine, 

Flow  my  thin  teares  downe  these  pale  cheeks  of  mine  ? 

Or  why,  my  well-graced  words  among. 

With  an  uncomely  silence  failes  my  tongue  ? 

Hard-hearted,  I  dreame  every  night 

I  hold  thee  fast !  but  fled  hence,  with  the  light, 

Whether  in  Mars  his  field  thou  be, 

Or  Tyber's  winding  streams,  I  follow  thee. 

Horace's  ode  to  Venus  suffers,  we  think,  in  comparison 
with  Sappho's  Hymn  to  Aphrodite.  This,  Horace  himself 
perhaps  would  freely  admit ;  for  he  admired  Greek  genius  and 
Greek  art  in  lyric  song,  as  our  next  citation  will  show. 

The  second  ode  of  the  fourth  book  contains  a  fine  and  a 
famous  characterization  of  Pindar.  Mr.  Martin  shall  make 
it  English  verse  for  us.  Horace  glorifies  Pindar,  and  then, 
in  a  demure  fit  of  modesty,  contrasts  himself.  He  duly 
modulates  his  strain  into  eulogy  of  Cassar  Augustus: 

lulus,  he  who'd  rival  Pindar's  fame 

On  waxen  wings  doth  sweep 

The  Empyrean  steep. 
To  fall  like  Icarus,  and  with  his  name 

Endue  the  glassy  deep. 

Like  to  a  mountain  stream,  that  roars 

From  bank  to  bank  along, 

When  autumn  rains  are  strong, 
So  deep-mouth'd  Pindar  lifts  his  voice,  and  pours 

His  fierce  tumultuous  sons. 


Horace.  201 

Worthy  Apollo's  laurel  wreath, 

Whether  he  strike  the  lyre 

To  love  and  young  desire, 
While  bold  and  lawless  numbers  grow  beneath 

His  mastering  touch  of  fire  ; 

Or  sings  of  gods,  and  monarchs  sprung 

Of  gods,  that  overthrew 

The  Centaurs,  hideous  crew, 
And,  fearless  of  the  monster's  fiery  tongue, 

The  dread  Chimsera  slew. 

Or  mourns  the  youth  snatch'd  from  his  bride, 

Extols  his  manhood  clear. 

And  to  the  starry  sphere 
Exalts  his  golden  virtues,  scattering  wide 

The  gloom  of  Orcus  drear. 

When  the  Dircean  Swan  doth  climb 

Into  the  azure  sky. 

There  poised  in  ether  high, 
He  courts  each  gale,  and  floats  on  wing  sublime, 

Soaring  with  steadfast  eye. 

I,  like  the  tiny  bee,  that  sips 

The  fragrant  thyme,  and  strays 

Humming  through  leafy  ways, 
By  Tibur's  sedgy  banks,  with  trembling  lips 

Fashion  my  toilsome  lays. 

But  thou,  when  up  the  sacred  steep 

Caesar,  with  garlands  crown'd, 

Leads  the  Sicambrians  bound, 
With  bolder  hand  the  echoing  strings  shall  sweep, 

And  bolder  measures  sound. 

The  fifth  of  book  fifth  is  all  tribute  to  Augustus.  One 
naturally  compares  it  with  Tennyson's  noble  dedication  to 
his  queen,  of  his  own  collected  poems — "  this  poor  book  of 
song,"  as  he  himself,  with  modest  disparagement,  styles  the 
volume. 

The  epodes  are  younger  and  inferior  works  of  the  poet. 


202 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


The  second  of  the  first  book  may  be   read   with  interest  in 

collation    with    the    "  Cotter's    Saturday    Night "    of   Burns, 

Mr.  Martin  has  given  it  the  same 

metrical  form  with  that  of  Gray's 

"  Elegy    Written    in    a    Country 

Church-Yard." 

As  now  —  with  first  scarcely 
more  than  a  ceremonious  salute 
to  his  satires  —  we  pass  from  the 
odes  to  the  Epistles  of  Horace, 
we  keep  ourselves  in  countenance 
with  our  readers,  by  quoting, 
from  the  preface  to  his  English 
Horace,  an  expression  of  Mr.  Con- 
ington's,  to  confirm  our  own  at 
once  disparaging  and  admiring  ap- 
preciation of  these  celebrated  Lat- 
in lyrics  : 

"  It  is  only  the  attractiveness  of 
the  Latin,  half  real,  half  perhaps 
arising  from  association  and  the 
romance  of  a  language  not  one's 
own,  that  makes  us  feel  this  'lyr- 
ical commonplace '  more  support- 
able than  commonplace  is  usually 
found  to  be." 

The  satires  proper  of  Horace — his  satires,  we  mean,  ex- 
pressly so  named — we  shall  need  to  detain  but  very  briefly 
under  notice.  The  Horatian  satiric  vein  runs  also  through 
the  poetical  epistles  of  this  author ;  and  one  of  these,  in  fairly 
adequate  specimen  of  their  kind,  it  will  be  desirable  to  dis- 
play somewhat  fully  to  our  readers.  We  simply  now,  for  in- 
sertion here,  detach  from  the  sixth  satire,  second  book,  of 
Horace,  the  fable  of  The  Town  and  Country  Mouse.     This 


Horace.  203 

is  well  rendered  in  rattling  octosyllabics  by  Mr.  Martin  ;  but 
we  present  instead  a  version  which,  besides  being  more  ex- 
actly literal  than  that,  is  conformed  in  metre  to  the  hex- 
ameter Latin  original.  (The  present  writer  may  be  permitted 
to  testify,  that  with  every  added  degree  of  approach  achieved 
by  him  to  absolute  verbal  fidelity  in  translation,  he  has 
seemed  to  himself  to  be  adding  something  of  picturesque- 
ness  and  of  spirit  to  his  work.  To  his  own  mind,  this  con- 
stitutes a  lively  evidence  of  the  inseparable  merit  of  Horace's 
lines.  We  ought  to  explain  that,  at  one  point  in  the  story, 
Horace  humorously  incorporates,  for  mock-heroic  effect,  a 
Virgilian  assemblage  of  words  to  mark  the  hour  of  midnight. 
By  way  of  exception  to  our  own  literal  exactness  in  render- 
ing, we  have  ventured  to  reproduce  this  stroke  of  Horatian 
humor  in  English,  by  making  conscript  a  slow-moving  spon- 
daic line  of  Milton's  "  Paradise  Lost,"  to  serve  the  same 
purpose.) 

The  table  translated  is  playfully  introduced  by  Horace, 
as  a  threadbare  story  told  by  a  guest,  at  a  banquet  imagined 
to  take  place  in  the  country,  where  high  themes  are  dis- 
cussed. Cervus,  a  neighbor  of  Horace's,  is  one  of  those 
men  whose  idea  of  helping  on  conversation  is  to  contribute  a 
story.  Some  one  has  remarked  on  the  anxious  wealth  of 
Arellius,  when  Cervus  snuffs  his  chance  and  begins : 

Once,  runs  the  story,  a  mouse  of  the  country  within  his  poor  cavern 
Welcomed  a  mouse  of  the  city — old  cronies  they  each  of  the  other — 
Manners  uncouth,  sharp  eye  to  his  hoard,  yet  disposed  notwithstanding, 
Acting  the  host,  his  close  heart  to  unbind.     Why  multiply  words  ?     He 
Neither  the  stored-away  chick-pea  grudged,  nor  his  longest  oat-kernel. 
Forth  in  his  mouth  he,  bringing  the  dry  plum,  also  his  nibbled 
Bacon-bits,  gave  them,  eager  with  various  banquet  to  vanquish 
Niceness  of  guest  scarce  touching  with  tooth  of  disdain  any  viand  : 
While,  stretched  on  fresh  litter  of  straw,  he,  lord  of  the  household, 
Ate  him  a  spelt-grain  or  darnel,  the  choicer  provisions  refraining. 

Finally,  city-bred  says  to  the  other :  "  What  is  it,  companion. 
Tempts  you,  enduring,  to  live  on  the  ridge  abrupt  of  the  forest? 


204  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

You,  too — will  you  prefer  men  and  town  to  the  fierce  savage  wildwood  ? 
Up  and  away — trust,  comrade,  to  me  ;  since  creatures  terrestrial 
Live  allotted  a  mortal  portion  of  breath,  nor  is  any 
Refuge  from  death  to  great  or  to  small  :  so,  my  excellent  fellow. 
While  it  is  granted  you,  live  in  agreeable  wi.ie,  well-conditioned; 
Live  recollecting  of  span  how  brief  you  are  !  " 

Soon  as  these  speeches 
Wrought  on  the  swain,  he  out  of  his  dwelling  lightly  leaps  forth  :  thence 
Press  they,  the  pair,  on  the  journey  proposed,  being  keenly  desirous 
Under  the  walls  of  the  city  to  creep  as  night-farers.     And  night  now 
'  Half-way  up  hill  this  vast  sublunar  vault '  clomb,  when 
Each  of  the  mice  set  foot  in  a  palace  resplendent,  where  drapings 
Tinctured  crimson  in  grain  were  glowing  on  ivory  couches. 
Numberless  dishes  remaining  from  yesterday's  sumptuous  supper 
There  at  remove  stood  in  panniers  loftily  built  like  a  turret. 

So  when  now  he  has  placed  at  his  ease  on  a  couch-spread  of  purple 
Countryman  mouse,  obsequious  host  he  runs  hither  and  thither, 
Course  after  course  the  supper  prolongs,  and,  with  flourish  of  service, 
Does  all  the  honors  in  form,  whatever  he  offers  foretasting. 
He,  reclining,  rejoices  in  altered  estate,  and  in  plenty 
Plays  you  the  part  of  jolly  good  fellow — when,  sudden,  a  mighty 
Rumble  of  doors  rolling  open  both  of  them  shook  from  their  couches  : 
Helter-skelter  scampering  went  they,  stricken  with  terror — 
Growingly  breathless  with  panic  they  quake,  while  rings  the  great  mansion 
Loud  to  the  baying  of  mastiffs  Molossian. 

Then  countiyman  mouse  said  : 
"  Life  such  as  this  I've  no  use  for  ;  good-bye  to  you  :  me,  with  the  lowly 
Vetch,  shall  the  woods,  and  a  cave  secure  from  surprises,  make  happy." 

It  is  the  contrast  of  the  leisurely  and  remote  conversation 
conceived  thus  as  passing  at  the  supposed  banquet  in  the 
country — the  contrast  of  this  with  the  hurried  and  exciting 
scenes  and  occasions  of  life  in  the  city,  that  affords  the 
mild  flavor  of  satire  discoverable  in  this  composition  of 
Horace's. 

Of  the  Epistles  of  Horace,  there  are  two  decidedly  more 
interesting  and  more  valuable  for  modern  readers  than  any 
of  the  others.  These  are  the  Epistle  to  Augustus  and  that 
to  the   Pisos.     The  latter  is  generally  called  "  The  Art  of 


Horace.  205 

Poetry,"  such  being  in  fact  the  didactic  subject  of  the  epis- 
tle. Horace's  "  Ars  Poetica  "  enjoys  a  high  repute  for  the 
soundness  of  its  inculcation  on  the  subject  which  it  treats. 
It  suffers  so  in  any  English  translation  that  we  are  much  dis- 
posed to  pass  it,  asking  our  readers  to  study  Pope's  "  Essay 
on  Criticism,"  as  a  lively  and  agreeable  way  of  getting  at  the 
spirit,  and  at  no  small  part  also  of  the  wisdom,  of  the  ancient 
production.  Pope,  in  his  various  versified  essays,  makes  a 
very  good  English  Horace,  such  as  Horace  appears  in  his 
epistles  and  in  his  satires.  The  Art  of  Poetry  is  a  piece  in 
hexameters,  making  about  six  hundred  and  fifty  heroics  in 
Dr.  Francis's  translation.  Critics  have  shrewdly  suspected 
that  some  part  of  Horace's  purpose,  in  this  epistle  to  the 
Pisos,  was,  under  the  guise  of  general  suggestion,  to  insinuate 
dissuasion  from  the  project,  entertained  by  those  distin- 
guished men,  of  going  into  the  business  of  poetry-writing. 
There  were  now  in  Rome,  what  Pope  called  in  England  a 
*'  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with  ease,"  and  true  literature 
was  like  to  perish  there  under  too  much  crowding  of  the  market 
with  aitiateur  literary  wares  from  the  hands  of  "  the  great." 

The  Epistle  to  Augustus  also  discusses  the  subject  of 
poetical  production.  Pope,  under  the  title  of  an  Imitation, 
has  translated,  with  "  modern  touches  here  and  there,"  this 
epistle,  in  one  of  his  wittiest  satires.  The  dulcet  praises 
chanted  by  Horace  to  Augustus,  in  the  first  part  of  the  epis- 
tle, were,  by  the  English  wit,  turned  ironically  into  bitter  dis- 
praises of  his  own  royal  liege.  King  George  II.     Pope  : 

While  you,  great  patron  of  mankind  !  sustain 
The  balanced  world,  and  open  all  the  Main  ; 
Your  country,  chief,  in  arms  abroad  defend. 
At  home,  with  morals,  arts,  and  laws  amend  ; 
How  shall  the  muse,  from  such  a  monarch,  steal 
An  hour,  and  not  defraud  the  public  weal? 

So  Pope  begins.  Take  the  reverse  direction,  converting 
back  this  irony  on  George  II.  of  England  into  good  earnest 


2o6  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

of  adulation  to  Augustus  of  Rome,  and  you  have  authentic 
Horace  in  place  of  imitative  Pope.  Let  the  following,  from 
Smart's  literal  translation  of  Horace's  opening  lines,  illustrate 
this  : 

Since  you  alone  support  so  many  and  such  weighty  concerns,  defend 
Italy  with  your  arms,  adorn  it  by  your  virtue,  reform  it  by  your  laws  ;  I 
should  ofilend,  O  Ctesar,  against  the  public  interests,  if  I  were  to  trespass 
upon  your  time  with  a  long  discourse. 

When  Pope  wrote  his  satire,  the  Spaniards  were  invading, 
with  what  Britons  felt  to  be  insolent  bravado.  Great  Britain's 
private  preserve  of  the  ocean.  This  gives  its  point  to  Pope's 
irony  about  George's  "  opening  all  the  main  " — that  is,  lay- 
ing open  the  sea  to  the  hostile  and  menacing  visits  of  the 
Spaniard. 

Horace  goes  on  with  allusion  to  Romulus,  and  Father 
Bacchus,  and  Castor  and  Pollux.  These  names  are  changed 
by  Pope  into  English  parallels,  but  the  sentiment  is  kept 
— always,  however,  with  the  satirical  irony  understood. 
We  hardly  need  to  quote  literal  Smart,  so  consummately 
and  ingeniously  Horatian  has  Pope  here  contrived  to  be. 
Pope: 

Edward  and  Henry,  now  the  boast  of  fame, 

And  virtuous  Alfred,  a  more  sacred  name, 

After  a  life  of  gen'rous  toils  endured, 

The  Gaul  subdued,  or  property  secured, 

Ambition  humbled,  mighty  cities  stormed, 

Or  laws  established,  and  the  world  reformed ; 

Closed  their  long  glories  with  a  sigh  to  find 

Th'  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  mankind  ! 

All  human  virtue,  to  its  latest  breath. 

Finds  Envy  never  conquered  but  by  death. 

The  great  Alcides,  ev'ry  labor  past, 

Had  still  this  monster  to  subdue  at  last. 

Sure  fate  of  all,  beneath  whose  rising  ray 

Each  star  of  meaner  merit  fades  away  ! 

Oppressed  we  feel  the  beam  directly  beat. 

Those  suns  of  glory  please  not  till  they  set. 


Horace.  207 

Horace  complaisantly  contrasts  the  popular  justice  of  appre- 
ciation shown  toward  Augustus,  in  that  prince's  lifetime,  with 
the  popular  injustice  generally  shown  toward  men  by  their  own 
contemporaries,  through  injurious  comparison  with  the  an- 
cients. Pope  very  closely  imitates,  almost  translates,  satirically 
— thus : 

To  thee,  the  world  its  present  homage  pays, 
The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  praise  : 
Great  friend  of  liberty  !  in  kings  a  name 
Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame : 
Whose  word  is  truth,  as  sacred,  as  revered, 
As  heav'n's  own  oracles  from  altars  heard. 
Wonder  of  kings  !  like  whom,  to  mortal  eyes 
None  e'er  has  risen,  and  none  e'er  shall  rise. 

Just  in  one  instance,  be  it  yet  confest 
Your  people,  sir,  are  partial  in  the  rest : 
Foes  to  all  living  worth  except  your  own. 
And  advocates  for  folly  dead  and  gone. 
Authors,  like  coins,  grow  dear  as  they  grow  old, 
It  is  the  rust  we  value,  not  the  gold. 

Pope  is  like  Horace  in  being  surpassingly  quotable. 
"Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame,"  will  be  recognized 
for  a  familiar  acquaintance.  ("  Heard  "  was  formerly  pro- 
nounced so  as  to  be  a  true  rhyme  with  "  revered.") 

Horace  is  a  little  querulous  in  the  topic  he  now  touches. 
"  Just  what  age,"  he  asks,  "  must  a  poem  have  attained, 
before  it  can  safely  be  pronounced  good .?  "  Pope  still  is 
close  enough  to  Horace.     Let  us  go  on  with  Pope : 

If  time  improve  our  wit  as  well  as  wine. 
Say  at  what  age  a  poet  grows  divine  ? 
Shall  we,  or  shall  we  not,  account  him  so. 
Who  died,  perhaps,  a  hundred  years  ago  ? 
End  all  dispute  ;  and  fix  the  year  precise 
When  British  bards  begin  t'  immortalize  ? 

'  Who  lasts  a  century  can  have  no  flaw  ; 
I  hold  that  wit  a  classic,  good  in  law.' 

Suppose  he  wants  a  year,  will  you  compound? 
And  shall  we  deem  him  ancient,  right  and  sound, 


College  Lati?i  Course  in  English. 


Or  damn  to  all  eternity  at  once, 

At  ninety-nine,  a  modern  and  a  dunce? 

'  We  shall  not  quarrel  for  a  year  or  two  ; 
By  courtesy  of  England,  he  may  do.' 

Then  by  the  rule  that  made  the  horse-tail  bare, 
I  pluck  out  year  by  year,  as  hair  by  hair, 
And  melt  down  ancients  like  a  heap  of  snow  ; 
While  you  to  measure  merits,  look  in  Stowe, 
And  estimating  authors  by  the  year. 
Bestow  a  garland  only  on  a  bier. 

Gossip  Plutarch  is  authority  for  the  anecdote  about  the 
horse's  tail,  to  which,  in  his  illustration  reproduced  above 
by  Pope,  Horace  alludes.  In  his  life  of  Sertorius,  Plu- 
tarch says  that  that  general,  to  impress  on  the  men  of  his 
army  the  value  of  wisdom  and  contrivance,  in  contrast  with 
mere  inconsiderate  brute  strength,  adopted  the  expedient  of 
an  object-lesson  displayed  before  them.  He  had  two  horses 
brought  out,  one  old  and  feeble,  the  other  full  of  youth  and 
vigor.  He  then  set  at  work  a  strapping  fellow  on  the  feeble 
horse's  tail,  to  pull  the  hairs  out,  if  he  could.  At  the  same 
moment,  a  weakly  man  was  put  at  the  same  job  with  the  tail 
of  the  strong  young  horse.  The  able-bodied  man  made 
a  victim  of  his  animal,  dragging  the  poor  beast  about,  this 
way  and  that — to  the  infinite  diversion  of  the  spectators, 
but  making  meantime  no  headway  with  his  task.  The 
weaker  man  patiently  took  the  hairs  of  his  horse's  tail 
one  by  one,  and  soon  had  the  stump  plucked  completely 
bare. 

Horace  now  runs  over  a  list  of  Roman  names  in  literature, 
famous,  merely  or  mainly,  because  they  were  old.  Pope 
matches  these  with  an  English  list.  Horace  then  agrees 
that  the  conventional  verdict  on  authors  is  sometimes  right, 
but  he  insists  that  also  it  is  sometimes  wrong.  He  is  vexed 
that  poems  should  be  condemned,  not  because  they  are 
poor,  but  because  they  are  new,  and  that  poems  should 
be  praised,  not  because   they  are    good,   but  because  they 


Horace.  209 

are  old.     He    asks   pertinently — we   give   the   quotation  as 
Pope  puts  it — : 

"  Had  ancient  times  conspired  to  disallow 

What  then  was  new,  what  had  been  ancient  now?" 

It  is  by  a  very  slight  association — but  the  association 
is  perhaps  sufficient  for  an  epistle — that  Horace  pro- 
ceeds now  to  satirize  the  epidemic  itch  for  writing  poetry, 
that,  he  says,  prevailed  among  Romans.  Pope  translates  and 
parodies,  as  follows  : 

Time  was,  a  sober  Englishman  would  knock 

His  servants  up,  and  rise  by  five  o'clock. 

Instruct  his  family  in  ev'ry  rule, 

And  send  his  wife  to  church,  his  son  to  school. 

To  worship  like  his  fathers,  was  his  care  ; 

To  teach  their  frugal  virtues  to  his  heir  ; 

To  prove  that  luxury  could  never  hold  ; 

And  place,  on  good  security,  his  gold. 

Now  times  are  changed,  and  one  poetic  itch 

Has  seized  the  court  and  city,  poor  and  rich  : 

Sons,  sires,  and  grandsires,  all  will  wear  the  bays, 

Our  wives  read  Milton,  and  our  daughters  plays, 

To  theatres,  and  to  rehearsals  throng, 

And  all  our  grace  at  table  is  a  song. 

I,  who  so  oft  renounce  the  Muses,  lie, 

Not 's  self  e'er  tells  more  fibs  than  I ; 

When  sick  of  Muse,  our  follies  we  deplore, 
And  promise  our  best  friends  to  rhyme  no  more  ; 
We  wake  next  morning  in  a  raging  fit, 
And  call  for  pen  and  ink  to  show  our  wit. 

But  those  who  cannot  write,  and  those  who  can, 
All  rhyme,  and  scrawl,  and  scribble,  to  a  man. 

Horace  now,  half  humorously,  half  seriously,  computes  the 
negative  and  the  positive  benefits  conferred  upon  society  by 
the  poetical  tribe.     Pope  thus  renders  him  : 

Yet,  sir,  reflect,  the  mischief  is  not  great  ; 
These  madmen  never  hurt  the  church  or  state. 


College  Latin  Course  in  Ens:lish. 


Sometimes  the  folly  benefits  mankind  ; 
And  rarely  av'rice  taints  the  tuneful  mind. 
Allow  him  but  his  plaything  of  a  pen, 
He  ne'er  rebels,  or  plots,  like  other  men  : 

Of  little  use  the  man,  you  may  suppose, 
Who  says  in  verse  what  others  say  in  prose  ; 
Yet  let  me  show,  a  poet's  of  some  weight, 
And  (though  no  soldier)  useful  to  the  state. 
What  will  a  child  learn  sooner  than  a  song? 
What  better  teach  a  foreigner  the  tongue? 
What's  long  or  short,  each  accent  where  to  place, 
And  speak  in  public  with  some  sort  of  grace  ? 

He,  from  the  taste  obscene  reclaims  our  youth. 
And  sets  the  passions  on  the  side  of  truth. 
Forms  the  soft  bosom  with  the  gentlest  art, 
And  pours  each  human  virtue  in  the  heart. 

The  foregoing,  be  it  noted,  is,  like  all  the  rest  of  Pope's 
satire,  authentically  Horatian.  The  form  even  is  Pope's  form 
only  as  it  is  English  and  not  Latin  ;  the  meaning  is  wholly  the 
meaning  of  Horace. 

Horace  next  summarizes  the  history  of  that  development 
in  culture,  by  which  at  Rome  the  rudeness  of  rustic  song  be- 
came polite  and  elegant  poetry.  Follows  the  celebrated 
saying,  "  Captive  Greece  took  captive  her  fierce  conqueror," 
which,  with   its  sequel,  Pope  translates  and  accommodates 

thus  : 

We  conquered  France,  but  felt  our  captive's  charms  ; 
Her  arts  victorious  triumphed  o'er  our  arms ; 
Britain  to  soft  refinements  less  a  foe. 
Wit  grew  polite,  and  numbers  learned  to  flow. 
Waller  was  smooth  ;  but  Dryden  taught  to  join 
The  varying  verse,  the  full-resounding  line. 
The  long  majestic  march,  and  energy  divine. 
Though  still  some  traces  of  our  rustic  vein 
And  splay-foot  verse,  remained,  and  will  remain. 
Late,  very  late,  correctness  grew  our  care, 
When  the  tired  nation  breathed  from  civil  war. 


Horace.  211 

Exact  Racine,  and  Coineille's  noble  fire, 

Showed  us  that  France  had  something  to  admire. 

Not  but  the  tragic  spirit  was  our  own, 

And  full  in  Shakespeare,  fair  in  Otway  shone : 

But  Otway  failed  to  polish  or  refine, 

And  fluent  Shakespeare  scarce  effaced  a  line. 

Even  copious  Dryden  wanted,  or  forgot, 

The  last  and  greatest  art, — the  art  to  blot. 

It  is  really  remarkable  how  exactly,  mutatis  mutandis^  Pope 
here  reproduces  Horace.  Hardly  any  thing  but  the  proper 
names,  is  different. 

After  a  passage  about  comedy,  in  which  he  points  out  how 
nice  the  task  is  to  be  just  exquisitely  right,  in  such  produc- 
tion, Horace  proceeds  to  belabor  "the  many-headed  monster 
of  the  pit  " — as  Pope,  with  that  felicity  of  epigrammatic  phrase 
which  is  his,  calls  the  vulgar  mass  of  spectators  in  the  the- 
atre. He  then  indicates  the  difficulty  of  the  task  which  is 
set  the  comic  dramatist  to  perform.  It  is  nearly  exact  trans- 
lation, in  spirit,  if  not  in  letter,  when  Pope  says : 

Booth  enters — hark  !  the  universal  peal  ! 

"  But  has  he  spoken  ?  "     Not  a  syllable. 

What  shook  the  stage,  and  made  the  people  stare  ? 

Cato's  long  wig,  flow'red  gown,  and  lacquered  chair. 

With  admirable  spirit,  as  with  admirable  sense,  Horace 
sings,  and  Pope  echoes  : 

Yet  lest  you  think  I  rally  more  than  teach, 

Or  praise  malignly  arts  I  cannot  reach, 

Let  me  for  once  presume  t'  instruct  the  times. 

To  know  the  poet  from  the  man  of  rhymes  : 

'Tis  he,  who  gives  my  breast  a  thousand  pains. 

Can  make  me  feel  each  passion  that  he  feigns ; 

Enrage,  compose,  with  more  than  magic  art. 

With  pity,  and  with  terror,  tear  my  heart  ; 

And  snatch  me,  o'er  the  earth,  or  through  the  air. 

To  Thebes,  to  Athens,  when  he  will,  and  where. 


212  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

The  magic  of  the  dramatist  here  spoken  of,  to  effect  change 
of  scene,  must  not  be  taken  to  imply  that,  within  one  and  the 
same  play,  the  spectator  was  anciently  thus  whisked  about 
from  place  to  place.  One  of  the  dramatic  unities,  required 
by  ancient  canons  of  literary  art,  was  unity  of  place.  It  was 
in  passing  from  one  play  to  another,  Horace  means  to  say, 
that  the  spectator  was  now  in  Thebes,  now  in  Athens. 

Only  by  actual  comparison  of  the  one  with  the  other,  could 
any  man  be  brought  to  appreciate  the  exquisite  wit  and  art 
with  which  the  conclusion  of  Horace's  epistle  is  turned  by 
Pope  from  Latin  and  Augustan  into  English  and  Georgian. 
We  do,  we  think,  our  readers  a  real  service  by  giving  them, 
for  this  conclusion.  Pope's  brilliant  paraphrase  and  parody 
side  by  side  with  the  original  Horace  in  Smart's  literal  trans- 
lation. Horace,  after  a  sort,  excuses  himself  for  not  under- 
taking to  celebrate  in  epic  the  glories  of  Augustus.  He  does 
this  with  appropriate  allusion  to  historic  instance.  Horace 
(Smart) : 

A  favorite  of  King  Alexander  the  Great  was  that  Choer'i-his,  who  to 
his  uncouth  and  ill-formed  verses  owed  the  many  pieces  he  received  of 
Philip's  royal  coin.  But,  as  ink  when  touched  leaves  behind  it  a  mark 
and  a  blot,  so  writers  as  it  were  stain  shining  actions  with  foul  poetry. 
That  same  king,  who  prodigally  bought  so  dear  so  ridiculous  a  poem, 
by  an  edict  forbade  that  any  one  beside  A-pcl'les  should  paint  him, 
or  that  any  other  than  Ly-sip'pus  should  mold  brass  {ox  the  likeness  of 
the  valiant  Alexander.  But  should  you  call  that  faculty  of  his,  so  delicate 
in  discerning  other  arts,  to  judge  of  books  and  of  these  gifts  of  the  muses, 
you  would  swear  he  had  been  born  in  the  gross  air  of  the  Bce-o'tians. 
Yet  neither  do  Virgil  and  Varius,  your  beloved  poets,  disgrace  your  judg- 
ment of  them,  and  the  presents  which  they  have  received  with  great 
honor  to  the  donor  ;  nor  do  the  features  of  illustrious  men  appear  more 
lively  when  expressed  by  statues  of  brass,  than  their  manners  and  minds 
expressed  by  the  works  of  a  poet.  Nor  would  I  rather  compose  such 
tracts  as  these  creeping  on  the  ground,  than  record  deeds  of  arms,  and 
the  situations  of  countries,  and  rivers,  and  forts  reared  upon  mountains, 
and  barbarous  kingdoms,  and  wars  brought  to  a  conclusion  through  the 
whole  world  under  your  auspices,  and  the  barriers  that  confine  Janus 


Horace.  213 

the  guardian  of  peace,  and  Rome  dreaded  Ijy  the  Parthians  under  your 
government,  if  I  were  but  able  to  do  as  much  as  I  could  wish.  But 
neither  does  your  majesty  admit  of  humble  poetry,  nor  dares  my  modesty 
attempt  a  subject  which  my  strength  is  unable  to  support.  Yet  officious- 
ness  foolishly  disgusts  the  person  whom  it  loves  ;  especially  when  it  rec- 
ommends itself  by  numbers  and  the  art  of  writing.  For  one  learns 
sooner,  and  more  willingly  remembers,  that  which  a  man  derides,  than 
that  which  he  approves  and  venerates.  I  value  not  the  zeal  that  gives 
me  uneasiness ;  nor  do  I  wish  to  be  set  out  anywhere  in  wax  with  a  face 
formed  for  the  worse,  nor  to  be  celebrated  in  ill-composed  verses ;  lest  I 
blush,  when  presented  with  the  gross  gift  ;  and,  exposed  in  an  open  box 
along  with  my  author,  be  conveyed  into  the  street  that  sells  frankincense, 
and  spices, and  pepper,  and  whatever  is  wrapped  up  in  impertinent  writings. 

Now  Pope : 

Charles,  to  late  times  to  be  transmitted  fair, 
Assigned  his  figure  to  Bernini's  care. 
And  great  Nassau  to  Kneller's  hand  decreed 
To  fix  him  graceful  on  the  bounding  steed  ; 
So  well  in  paint  and  stone  they  judged  of  merit : 
But  kings  in  wit  may  want  discerning  spirit. 
The  hero  William,  and  the  martyr  Charles, 
One  knighted  Blackmore,  and  one  pensioned  Quarles  ; 
Which  made  old  Ben,  and  surly  Dennis  swear, 
"  No  lord's  anointed,  but  a  Russian  bear." 

Not  with  such  majesty,  such  bold  relief. 
The  forms  august,  of  king,  or  conquering  chief, 
E'er  swelled  on  marble;  as  in  verse  have  shined 
(In  polished  verse)  the  manners  and  the  mind. 
Oh  !  could  I  mount  on  the  Mseonian  wing, 
Your  arms,  your  actions,  your  repose  to  sing  I 
What  seas  you  traversed,  and  what  fields  you  fought ! 
Your  country's  peace,  how  oft,  how  dearly  bought  ! 
How  barb'rous  rage  subsided  at  your  word, 
And  nations  wondered  while  they  dropped  the  sword  ! 
How,  when  you  nodded,  o'er  the  land  and  deep, 
Peace  stole  her  wing,  and  wrapt  the  world  in  sleep  ; 
'Till  earth's  extremes  your  mediation  own, 
And  Asia's  tyrants  tremble  at  your  throne — 
But  verse,  alas  !  your  majesty  disdains  ; 
And  I'm  not  used  to  panegyric  strains  : 


214  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

The  zeal  of  fools  offends  at  any  time, 

But  most  of  all,  the  zeal  of  fools  in  rhyme. 

Besides,  a  fate  attends  on  all  I  write, 

That  when  I  aim  at  praise,  they  say  I  bite. 

A  vile  encomium  doubly  ridicules  : 

There's  nothing  blackens  like  the  ink  of  fools. 

If  true,  a  woeful  likeness  ;  and  if  lies, 

"  Praise  undesei-ved  is  scandal  in  disguise:  " 

Well  may  he  blush,  who  gives  it,  or  receives  ; 

And  when  I  flatter,  let  my  dirty  leaves 

(Like  journals,  odes,  and  such  forgotten  things 

As  Eusden,  Philips,  Settle,  writ  of  kings) 

Clothe  spice,  line  trunks,  or,  fluttering  in  a  row, 

Befringe  the  rails  of  Bedlam  and  Soho." 

The  facility  with  which  Horace  lends  himself  to  such 
adaptations  as  the  foregoing,  may  serve  to  remind  one  how 
fundamentally  the  same  from  age  to  age,  and  from  race  to 
race,  our  common  human  nature  remains.  It  may  serve 
also  to  show  that  Horace  was  in  this  at  least  a  poet  for  all 
time.  He  took  hold  of  what  is  permanent  in  the  constitution 
of  our  human  frame. 

Poet  the  world  will  always  call  Horace,  and  poet  indeed 
he  was.  But,  as  in  his  odes  he  was  still  more  an  artist  than 
a  poet,  so  in  his  satires  and  epistles  he  was  far  less  a  poet  than  a 
wit.  He  herein  resembles  Pope — on  the  sa- 
tiric and  epistolary  side  of  his  genius,  Horace's 
<\\  best  English  analogue.  Both  as  man,  and  as 
man  of  letters,  Horace  was  of  the  world,  emi- 
nently so,  and  the  world  will  always  love  its 
own.  His  fame  will  easily  last  as  long  as  the 
world  lasts  —  or  as  the  fashion  of  the  world 
lasts.  And  no  one  will  grudge  so  accomplished  and  so 
agreeable  a  man  his  merited  reward. 


Juvenal.  2 1 5 


VI. 

JUVENAL. 

If  Tacitus  had  been  a  poet,  he  would  have  been  a  poet 
like  Ju've-nal.  If  Juvenal  had  been  an  historian,  he  would 
have  been  an  historian  like  Tacitus.  Both  alike  were 
satirists.  The  difference  is  that  Tacitus  satirized  incident- 
ally, and  in  prose,  while  Juvenal  satirized  expressly,  and  in 
verse. 

It  was  noted  by  the  Romans  themselves  that  satire  was  a 
literary  form — the  only  one — of  their  own  origination.  Juve- 
nal was  by  no  means  the  first  in  time,  though  he  is  so  far  the 
first  in  power,  among  Roman  satirists.  Horace  was  a  satirist 
before  Juvenal,  as  Lucilius  was  a  satirist  before  Horace.  Of 
Lucilius,  true  founder  of  Roman  satire,  only  fragments  re- 
main. Between  Horace  and  Juvenal  came  Persius,  but  those 
two  are  for  us  the  representative  satirists  of  Rome. 

Horace's  satires  have  the  character  of  amateur  perform- 
ances, in  comparison  with  the  satires  of  Juvenal.  Horace 
had  not  depth  enough  of  nature,  had  not  strength  enough  of 
conviction,  to  make  him  a  really  powerful  satirist.  He  ex- 
perimented, he  toyed,  with  the  satiric  vein.  Juvenal  satirized 
in  dead  earnest.  He  did  not  play  at  his  task.  He  wrought 
at  it  with  might  and  main.  His  whole  soul  was  in  it,  and 
his  soul  was  large  and  strong.  Satire,  in  his  hands,  was  less 
a  lash,  even  a  Roman  lash,  than  a  sword.  It  did  not  sting. 
It  cut.  It  did  not  cut  simply  the  skin.  It  cut  the  flesh.  It 
cut  the  flesh  to  the  bone.  It  clove  the  bone  to  the  marrow. 
Hardly  ever,  in  the  history  of  literature,  has  such  a  weapon 
been  wielded  by  any  writer. 

Who  was  Juvenal .'  No  one  knows.  He  was  this  satirist. 
That  is  all  we  know  of  him.  As  a  man,  he  is  nothing  but  a 
name.     Not  that  there  are  not  traditions  about  Juvenal.     But 


2i6  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

there  are  no  traditions  that  we  can  trust.  When  he  lived,  is 
uncertain.  We  know  only  that  it  was  about  the  close  of  the 
first  century  after  Christ.  He  had  seen  the  empire  under 
several  emperors.  Some  think  that,  having  written  earlier, 
he  finally  published  under  Trajan — a  ruler  great  enough,  and 
strong  enough,  and  wise,  as  well  as  generous,  enough,  to  let 
the  satirist  say  his  say,  unhindered  and  unharmed.  Not 
quite  to  the  end,  however,  unharmed — if  we  are  to  trust  the 
legend  which  relates  that  Juvenal  was  honorably,  and  as  it 
were  satirically,  punished  for  the  freedom  of  his  pen,  by  being 
sent  to  Egypt  at  eighty  years  of  age  to  command  a  cohort 
stationed  in  that  province.  He  there  soon  died  of  his  vexa- 
tion and  chagrin.  Such  is  the  story;  but  the  story  has  no 
voucher.  Juvenal  is  personally  a  great  unknown.  But  can 
the  man  justly  be  called  unknown  who  has  written  what 
Juvenal  has  written }  The  incidents  of  his  life,  the  traits  of 
his  personal  appearance,  we  are  ignorant  of — but  do  we  not 
know  Juvenal  by  what  is  far  more  central  and  essential  in 
his  character } 

The  answer  to  that  question  depends  upon  whether  we 
take  Juvenal's  satires  to  shadow  forth  the  real  sentiments  of 
the  satirist,  or  to  have  been  written  by  him  in  mere  wanton 
play  of  wit,  "without  a  conscience  or  an  aim."  Opposite 
views  have  been  contended  for  on  this  point,  but  the  present 
writer  is  sure  he  feels  the  pulse  of  personal  sincerity  beat- 
ing strong  in  Juvenal's  satires.  It  was  the  morals,  much 
more  than  it  was  the  manners,  of  the  Roman  empire,  that 
engaged  the  genius  of  Juvenal.  That  the  satirist  himself  re- 
mained a  model  of  virtue,  amid  the  general  corruption  that 
rotted  around  him,  we  should  be  far  from  maintaining.  But 
Juvenal's  conscience  was  on  the  side  of  virtue — his  conscience, 
or  at  least  his  Roman  pride  and  scorn.  He  truly  despised 
vice,  if  he  did  not  truly  reprobate  vice.  Scorn  edged  the 
blade,  and  scorn  urged  the  blow. 

It  is  a  pity,  but  for  reasons  of  propriety,  we  cannot  show  our 


Juvenal.  2 1 7 

readers  the  one  satire  in  particular  which  staggers,  for  many, 
their  faith  in  Juvenal,  but  by  which,  we  confess,  our  own 
faith  in  Juvenal  is  confirmed.  Vice  was  so  flagrant  in  impe- 
rial Rome,  that  only  to  name  what  was  done  there  would 
now  be  an  intolerable  offense.  But  Juvenal  named  it, 
and  never  flinched.  He  painted  it  with  colors  dipped  in 
hell.  You  look  at  tlie  picture  aghast.  No  wonder  if  for  a 
moment  you  feel  such  a  picture  to  be  as  wicked  as  that  itself 
v/as-,  of  which  this  is  a  picture.  The  picture  breathes  and 
burns.  It  is  not  like  life — it  is  life.  The  artist  has  not  de- 
picted sin — he  has  committed  sin. 

But  look  again.  There  is  no  enticement  here.  You  are 
not  allured.  You  are  revolted.  It  was  not  because  he 
secretly  loved  them,  that  this  man  dwelt  on  images  of  evil.  He 
dwelt  on  them  because  he  hated,  or  at  least  despised,  them, 
and  would  do  his  utmost  to  make  them  everywhere  hateful 
or  despicable.  So  at  least  we  read  Juvenal.  But  we  will 
speak  no  more  of  what  we  must  not  show. 

Happily  what  we  can  show  of  Juvenal  is  one  of  the  best 
of  his  satires — one  of  the  best,  and,  on  the  whole,  perhaps 
quite  the  most  celebrated.  There  are  sixteen  satires  in  all, 
and  this  is  the  tenth  of  the  series.  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  has 
given  it  added  fame  for  English  readers  by  his  powerful  im- 
itative poem,  "  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes."  It  will  be 
interesting  to  study  the  original  and  the  imitation  together. 

It  is  wise  always  in  the  reader  to  expect  that  satires,  like 
comedies,  will  be  found  to  depend  for  their  interest  so  much 
on  that  atmosphere  of  incident  and  event  in  which  they  were 
pro.duced,  as  to  be  sadly  deprived  of  color  and  tone  through 
lapse  of  time  and  change  of  place.  The  full  text  of  Juvenal's 
Tenth  Satire  would  thus,  we  fear,  notwithstanding  the  ex- 
traordinary merit  of  the  poem,  prove  but  dull  reading  to 
many.     We  shall  need  to  be  select  and  to  be  short. 

The  motive  of  the  piece  is  tolerably  well  expressed  in 
Johnson's  title,  "The  Vanity  of  Human  \\'i.s]ics."  That 
10 


2iS  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

expression,  however,  is  ambiguous.  It  might  be  understood 
to  convey  the  idea  that  human  wishes  are  vain,  as  impotent  to 
bring  about  their  own  fulfilhnent.  The  satirist's  true  thought 
is  rather,  not  that  human  wishes  are  weak,  but  that  human 
wishes  are  blind  and  unwise.  We  wish  at  foolish  cross-pur- 
poses. We  desire  our  own  bane,  we  dread  our  own 
blessing. 

There  is  a  recent  prose  translation,  published  by  Mac- 
millan  &  Co.,  very  good,  and  interesting  the  more  because 
coming  to  us  from  our  antipodes.  The  translators  are  En- 
glish scholars  who  date  their  work  from  the  University  of 
Melbourne,  in  Australia.  We  resist  the  temptation  to  seem 
fresh  by  using  this  version,  and  go  back  to  the  pentameter 
couplets  of  Gifford.  The  relief  of  verse  and  of  rhyme  will 
be  found  grateful.  Juvenal's  point  will  seem  sharper,  than 
it  would  do  sheathed  in  scholarlike,  but  not  literary,  prose. 

Let  Observation,  with  extensive  view, 
Survey  mankind  from  China  to  Peru, 

is  Johnson's  familiar  beginning.  The  tautologous  verbosity 
of  this  has  often  been  pointed  out.  It  is  an  extreme  speci- 
men of  Johnson  at  his  worst.  Juvenal  gave  Johnson  the 
hint,  but  Johnson  is  himself  responsible  for  suffering  the 
hint  to  carry  him  so  far.  What  Juvenal  says  is  (as  our 
Australian  translators  give  it),  "  In  all  the  world — from 
Gades  [Cadiz]  to  the  land  of  the  Morning  and  its  Ganges," 
Gifford  rhymes  it : 

In  every  clime,  from  Ganges'  distant  stream 
To  Gades,  gilded  by  the  western  beam. 

It  will  be  noted  that  Gifford,  for  the  sake  of  liis  versification, 
takes  the  liberty,  first,  to  transpose  the  points  of  the  compass  ; 
and,  second,  to  transfer  the  poetical  amplification,  from  the 
East,  where  Juvenal  used  it,  to  the  West.  The  total  effect 
is  not  thus  much  modified.  At  any  rate,  this  freedom  on 
Gifford's  part  may  be  taken  to  exemplify  his  general  habit  in 


Juvenal.  2 1 9 

doing  his  work  of  translating,  with  Juvenal,  Juvenal  says 
that  "in  every  clime  "  from  West  to  East,  the  rule  is  for  men 
to  wish  what,  if  granted,  will  probably  injure  them.  For  ex- 
ample, the  universal  craving  is  for  wealth,  but  how  often  has 
wealth  been  the  ruin  of  its  possessor.  The  rich,  under  bad 
emperors,  became  the  prey  of  those  emperors,  while  the  poor 
escaped  by  their  own  obscurity.  The  satirist  recalls  historic 
instances  (Gifford's  translation  ) : 

For  this,  in  other  times,  at  Nero's  word, 
The  ruffian  bands  unsheathed  the  murderous  sword, 
Rushed  to  the  swelling  coffers  of  the  great, 
Chased  Lat-e-ra'nus  from  his  lordly  seat, 
Besieged  too-wealthy  Seneca's  wide  walls, 
And  closed,  terrific,  round  Lon-gi'nus'  halls  : 
While  sweetly  in  their  cocklofts  slept  the  poor, 
And  heard  no  soldier  thundering  at  their  door. 
The  traveller,  freighted  with  a  little  wealth, 
Sets  forth  at  night,  and  wins  his  way  by  stealth  : 
Even  then,  he  fears  the  bludgeon  and  the  blade, 
And  starts  and  trembles  at  a  rush's  shade  ;  ■ 

While,  void  of  care,  the  beggar  trips  along. 
And,  in  the  spoiler's  presence,  trolls  his  song. 

Juvenal  thinks  that  if,  in  their  own  times,  De-moc'ri-tus 
could  laugh  incessantly,  and  Her-a-cli'tus  could  incessantly 
weep,  over  the  follies  of  their  fellow-creatures,  those  philoso- 
phers would  find  much  more  food  for  laughter  and  for 
tears,  were  they  to  enjoy  a  resurrection  under  the  Roman 
empire  as  he  himself  saw  the  Roman  empire.  The  laughter 
of  Democritus,  by  the  way,  Juvenal  says,  was  intelligible — 
anybody  could  laugh;  but  where  could  anybody  get  brine 
enough  to  keep  him  going  in  tears  .i*  This  is  the  fashion  in 
which  Juvenal  derided  the  pomp  of  civic  processions  and 
military  triumphs  in  Rome: 

Democritus,  at  every  step  he  took. 
His  sides  with  unextinguished  laughter  shook, 
Though,  in  his  days,  Abdera's  simple  towns 
No  fasces  knew,  chairs,  litters,  purple  gowns. 


220  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

What  !  had  he  seen,  in  his  triumphal  car, 

Amid  the  dusty  Cirque,  conspicuous  far, 

The  Praetor  perched  aloft,  superbly  dress'd 

In  Jove's  proud  tunic,  with  a  trailing  vest 

Of  Tyrian  tapestry,  and  o'er  him  spread 

A  crown,  too  bulky  for  a  mortal  head. 

Borne  by  a  sweating  slave,  maintained  to  ride 

In  the  same  car,  and  mortify  his  pride! 

Add  now  the  bird,  that,  with  expanded  wing, 

From  the  raised  sceptre  seems  prepared  to  spring  ; 

And  trumpets  here  ;  and  there  the  long  parade 

Of  duteous  friends,  who  head  the  cavalcade  ; 

Add,  too,  the  zeal  of  clients  robed  in  white. 

Who  hang  upon  his  reins,  and  grace  the  sight, 

Unbribed,  unbought — save  by  the  dole,  at  night ! 

Jtivenal  alludes  at  some  length  to  the  striking  fate  of 
Se-ja'nus.  Sejanus,  an  imperial  favorite  under  Tiberius, 
became  a  pretender  to  the  throne,  and  so  a  conspirator 
against  his  sovereign.  He  was  found  out,  was  strangled,  and 
the  populace  rent  his  dead  body  into  fragments,  which  they 
flung  into  the  Tiber.  The  statues  of  the  fallen  man  were 
tumbled  down  and  melted  up  in  fierce  fires,  kindled  on  the 
street.  The  rabble  meantime  ignorantly  exchanged  gibes,  in 
their  street  talk,  at  the  very  man  whom,  had  he  but  suc- 
ceeded, they  would  have  hailed  emperor  with  uproarious 
cheers.  Now  Juvenal,  from  the  point  at  which  the  fire  is 
kindled  for  melting  up  the  bronze  Sejanus  : 

Then  roar  the  fires  !  the  sooty  artist  blows, 
And  all  Sejanus  in  the  furnace  glows  ; 
Sejanus,  once  so  honored,  so  adored. 
And  only  second  to  the  world's  great  lord, 
Runs  glittering  from  the  mould,  in  cups  and  cans, 
Basins  and  ewers,  plates,  pitchers,  pots,  and  pans. 

"  Crown  all  your  doors  with  bay,  triumphant  bay  ! 
Sacred  to  Jove,  the  milk-white  victim  slay  ; 
For  lo  !  where  great  Sejanus  by  the  throng, 
A  joyful  spectacle  !  is  dragged  along. 


Juvenal.  221 

What  lips  !  what  cheeks  !  ha,  traitor  ! — for  my  part, 

I  never  loved  the  fellow — in  my  heart." 

"  But  tell  me  ;  Why  was  he  adjudged  to  bleed? 

And  who  discovered  ?  and  who  proved  the  deed  ?  " 

"  Proved  ! — a  huge,  wordy  letter  came  to-day 

From  Caprese."     Good  !  what  think  the  people  ?  They  ! 

They  follow  fortune,  as  of  old,  and  hate, 

With  their  whole  souls,  the  victim  of  the  state. 

Yet  would  the  herd,  thus  zealous,  thus  on  fire, 

Had  Nurscia  met  the  Tuscan's  fond  desire, 

And  ciushed  the  unwary  prince,  have  all  combined, 

And  hailed  Sejanus,  Master  of  mankind  ! 

Johnson's  parallel  to  Sejanus  is  Cardinal  "Wolsey : 

In  full-blown  dignity,  see  Wolsey  stand, 
Law  in  his  voice,  and  fortune  in  his  hand: 
To  him  the  Church,  the  realm,  their  pow'rs  consign, 
Thro'  him  the  rays  of  regal  bounty  shine, 
Turn'd  by  his  nod  the  stream  of  honor  flows, 
His  smile  alone  security  bestows. 
Still  to  new  heights  his  restless  wishes  tow'r, 
Claim  leads  to  claim,  and  pow'r  advances  pow'r: 
Till  conquest  unresisted  ceas'd  to  please, 
And  rights  submitted  left  him  none  to  seize. 
At  length  bis  sov'reign  frowns — the  train  of  state 
Mark  the  keen  glance,  and  watch  the  sign  to  hate. 
Where'er  he  turns,  he  meets  a  stranger's  eye, 
His  suppliants  scorn  him,  and  his  followers  fly. 

These  balanced  declamatory  lines  of  Johnson  suffer  from 
the  comparison  which  they  naturally  provoke,  with  Shakes- 
peare's treatment  of  the  same  topic,  in  his  Henry  the  Eighth. 

At  this  point  occurs  one  of  the  most  memorable  of  all 
Juvenal's  satirical  strokes.  The  satirist  contrasts  former 
popular  freedom  with  present  popular  servitude.  The  same 
Roman  people,  he  says,  that  once  proudly  by  its  votes  con- 
ferred every  privilege  and  every  distinction,  now  confines  its 
aspiration  to  the  one  cry  for  bread  to  stop  its  mouth,  and  for 
the  games  of  the  circus  to  set  its  eyes  agape.     Panem  et 


CoIle,s:e  Latin  Course  in  En^jlish. 


circcnses !  Food  and  fun  at  the  yjublic  expense,  were,  in 
Juvenal's  time,  sufficient  to  content  the  degenerate  citizens 
of  the  empire.  "  Panem  et  circenses,"  is  a  famous  phrase  of 
quotation.  'Say,'  exclaims  Juvenal,  suddenly  —  as  would 
seem — bethinking  himself  that  he  had  introduced  Sejanus  for 
a  purpose,  '  say,  would  you  like  Sejanus's  power,  bought  at 
Sejanus's  price  }  ' 

From  Sejanus,  Juvenal  goes  back  farther  for  historic  in- 
stances, to  Crassus,  to  Pompey,  to  Coesar: 

What  wrought  the  Crassi,  what  the  Pompeys'  doom, 
And  liis,  who  bowed  the  stubborn  neck  of  Rome  ? 
What  but  the  wild,  the  unbounded  wish  to  rise, 
Heard,  in  malignant  kindness,  by  the  skies. 
Few  kings,  few  tyrants,  find  a  bloodless  end, 
Or  to  the  grave,  witliout  a  wound,  descend. 

Wealth  and  power  are  not  the  only  objects  foolishly  craved 
by  men.  The  ambition  and  the  prayer  to  be  eloquent  are 
also  disguised  and  unconscious  invocations  of  doom — witness 
the  examples  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero: 

The  child,  with  whom  a  trusty  slave  is  sent. 
Charged  with  his  little  scrip,  has  scarcely  spent 
His  mite  at  school,  ere  all  his  bosom  glows 
With  the  fond  hope  he  nevermore  foregoes, 
To  reach  Demosthenes'  or  Tully's  name, 
Rival  of  both  in  eloquence  and  fame  !  — 
Yet,  by  this  eloquence,  alas  !  expired 
Each  orator,  so  envied,  so  admired  ! 
Yet,  by  the  rapid  and  resistless  sway 
Of  torrent  genius,  each  was  swept  away  ! 
Genius,  for  that,  the  baneful  potion  sped. 
And  lopped,  from  tiiis,  the  hands  and  gory  head: 
While  meaner  pleaders  unmolested  stood. 
Nor  stained  the  rostrum  with  their  wretched  blood. 

In  the  gibe,  now  to  follow,  of  Juvenal,  at  Cicero's  jingling 
braggadocio  verse,  our  readers  will  note  how  ingeniously  the 
effect  on  the  ear,  of  the  Latin  line  laughed  at  by  the  satirist. 


Juvenal.  223 

is  imitated  by  Mr.  Gifford  in  his  translation,  Juvenal  avers 
that,  for  Cicero's  own  happiness,  it  would  have  l)ecn  better 
for  him  to  write  nothing  but  sucli  stuff  as  even  that  ludi- 
crous line  of  poetry,  than  it  was  to  launch  at  Antony  tlie 
flaming  bolt  of  eloquence  which  cost  the  orator  his  life  : 

"  Ihuv  fortimxTE  A  NA'l'AL  day  was  thine, 

In  thai  LATE  const(LATK,  O  A'ome,  of  mine  !  " 

Oh,  soul  of  eloquence  !  had  all  been  found 

An  empty  vaunt,  like  this,  a  jingling  sound. 

Thou  might'st,  in  peace,  lliy  humble  fame  have  borne. 

And  laughed  the  swords  of  Antony  to  scorn  ! 

Yet  this  would  I  prefer — the  common  jest  — 

To  that  which  fired  the  lierce  triumvir's  lireast. 

That  second  scroll,. where  eloquence  divine 

Burst  on  the  ear  from  every  glowing  line. 

And  he  too  fell,  whom  Athens,  wondering,  saw 

Her  fierce  democracy,  at  will,  o'erawe, 

And  "  fulmine  over  Greece  ! "     Some  angry  Power 

Scowled,  with  dire  influence,  on  his  natal  hour. 

Bleared  with  the  glowing  mass,  the  amljitious  sire. 

From  anvils,  sledges,  bellows,  tongs,  and  fire, 

From  temp'ring  swords,  his  own  more  safe  employ, 

To  study  RHETORIC,  sent  his  iiopeful  boy. 

Macaulay  thinks  that  Johnson's  passage,  parallel  to  the  fore- 
going— a  passage  descriptive  of  the  disai^pointments  that 
dog  the  literary  life — is  finer  tlian  the  original  which  it  imi- 
tates. We  condense  the  Englishman's  imitation  here.  It 
is  highly  autobiographic  in  spirit.  Yon  must  think  of  John- 
son's memorable  letter  of  indignation  to  Chesterfield,  about 
the  once  proposed  dedication  to  that  nobleman  of  his  English 
dictionary,  and  you  must  think  of  the  debtor's  prison,  not 
unknown  to  authors  of  Johnson's  day — when  you  read  the 
pregnant  allusion  following,  to  the  "  patron  [the  first  edition 
read  'garret']  and  the  jail  ": 

When  first  the  college  rolls  receive  his  name, 
The  young  enthusiast  quits  his  ease  for  fame  ; 


2  24  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Proceed,  illustrious  youth. 
And  Virtue  guard  thee  to  the  throne  of  Truth  ! 

Yet  hope  not  life  from  grief  or  danger  free, 
Nor  think  the  doom  of  man  revers'd  for  tliee. 
Deign  on  the  passing  world  to  turn  thine  eyes, 
And  pause  awhile  from  letters  to  be  wise  ; 
There  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail, 
Toil,  envy,  want,  the  patron,  and  the  jail. 
See  nations,  slowly  wise  and  meanly  just, 
To  buried  merit  raise  the  tardy  bust. 
If  dreams  yet  flatter,  once  again  attend, 
Hear  Lydiat's  life,  and  Galileo's  end. 

Garrick  pronounced  Johnson's  poem  ''  as  hard  as  Greek." 
It  certainly  is  not  very  easy  reading.  The  passage  just 
quoted  was  so  charged  with  personal  reminiscence,  to  Johnson 
himself,  that  he,  it  is  said,  burst  into  tears  over  it,  when  once 
reading  the  poem  aloud  at  Mrs.  Thrale's. 

The  topics  successively  treated  by  Juvenal  are  Wealth, 
Power,  Eloquence,  Military  Fame,  Long  Life,  Personal  Beauty, 
as  objects  of  human  desire  likely,  even  if  gained,  to  involve 
the  gainer  in  special  disappointment  and  misery.  Hannibal, 
Alexander,  Xerxes,  are  the  historical  examples  adduced,  of 
thirst  for  the  vain  delight  of  warlike  renown.  A  wild  desire, 
Juvenal  declares  it,  and  says  (Gifford's  translation)  : 

Yet  has  this  wild  desire,  in  other  days. 
This  boundless  avarice  of  a  few  for  praise. 
This  frantic  rage  for  names  to  grace  a  tomb, 
Involved  whole  coimtries  in  one  general  doom  ; 
Vain  "  rage  ! "  the  roots  of  the  wild  fig-tree  rise, 
Strike  through  the  marble,  and  their  memory  dies  ! 

The  "wild  fig-tree  "  of  Juvenal  is,  no  doubt,  the  allusion 
intended  in  Tennyson's  "  Princess  ": 

•"  though  the  rough  kex  break 
The  starred  mosaic,  and  the  wild  goal  hang  • 

Upon  the  pillar,  and  the  wild  fig-tree  split 
Their  monstrous  idols." 


Juvenal.  '2.2~^ 

Juvenal's  passage  about  Hannibal  is  one  of  the  finest  in 
the  satire.  The  words,  "  Expende  Hannibalem,"  meaning 
"  Weigh  Hannibal  " — that  is,  weigh  the  inurned  ashes,  or  the 
buried  dust,  that  alone  remain  as  relic  of  the  living  man — 
these  two  words  have  become  a  not  infrequent  literary 
quotation  used  to  set  forth  the  "little  measure  "  to  which  the 
mightiest  dead  are  shrunk.  Hodgson  dilutes,  but  dilutes 
rather  successfully,  as  follows  : 

How  are  the  mighty  changed  to  dust !  How  small 
The  urn  that  holds  what  once  was  Hannibal ! 

Now  Gifford's  version  of  Juvenal's  satirical  homily  on 
Hannibal : 

Produce  the  urn  tliat  Hannibal  contains, 
And  weigh  the  mighty  dust,  which  yet  remains : 
And  is  this  all  ?     Yet  this  was  once  the  bold, 
The  aspiring  chief,  whom  Afric  could  not  hold, 
Though  stretched  in  breadth  from  where  the  Atlantic  roars, 
To  distant  Nilus,  and  his  sun-burnt  shores  ; 
In  length,  from  Carthage  to  the  burning  zone. 
Where  other  moors,  and  elephants  are  known. 
— Spain  conquered,  o'er  the  Pyrenees  he  bounds: 
Nature  opposed  her  everlasting  mounds, 
Her  Alps,  and  snows  ;  o'er  these,  with  torrent  force. 
He  pours,  and  rends  through  rocks  his  dreadful  course. 
Already  at  his  feet  Italia  lies  ; — 

Yet  thundering  on,  "  Think  nothing  done,"  he  cries, 
"  Till  Rome,  proud  Rome,  beneath  my  fury  falls, 
And  Afric's  standards  float  along  her  walls  ! 
Big  words  !— but  view  his  figure  ! — view  his  face  ! 
O,  for  some  master-hand  the  lines  to  trace. 
As  through  the  Etrurian  swamps,  by  floods  increas'd, 
The  one-eyed  chief  urged  his  Getulian  beast ! 

But  what  ensued  ?     Illusive  Glory,  say. 
Subdued  on  Zama's  memorable  day. 
He  flies  in  exile  to  a  petty  state, 
"With  headlong  haste  !  and,  at  a  despot's  gate. 
Sits,  mighty  suppliant!  of  his  life  in  doubt. 
Till  the  Bithynian's  morning  nap  be  out. 
10* 


2  26  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

No  swords,  nor  spears,  nor  stones  from  engines  hurled, 
Shall  quell  the  man  whose  frown  alarmed  the  world  : 
The  vengeance  due  to  Cannce's  faial  field. 
And  floods  of  human  gore,  a  ring  shall  yield  ! 
Fly,  madman,  fly  !  at  toil  and  danger  mock, 
Pierce  the  deep  snow,  and  scale  the  eternal  rock, 
To  please  the  rhetoricians,  and  become 
A  DECLAMATION  for  the  boys  of  Rome! 

Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  serves  Johnson  for  his  modern  in- 
stance, iiiatched  against  the  Roman's  Hannibal.  On  Charles 
for  text,  Johnson  is  fired  to  preach  in  sonorous  rhymes  his 
very  best  sermon.  "  Juvenal's  Hannibal  must  yield  to  John- 
son's Charles,"  says  Macaulay.  But  let  our  readers  judge. 
Here  is  Johnson  : 

On  what  foundation  stands  the  warrior's  pride, 
How  just  his  hopes,  let  Swedish  Charles  decide. 
A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  fire, 
No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire ; 
O'er  love,  o'er  fear,  extends  his  wide  domain, 
Unconquer'd  lord  of  pleasure  and  of  pain  ; 
No  joys  to  him  pacific  sceptres  yield. 
War  sounds  the  trump,  he  rushes  to  the  field. 
Behold  surrounding  kings  their  pow'rs  combine, 
And  one  capitulate,  and  one  resign: 
Peace  courts  his  hand,  but  spreads  her  charms  in  vain  ■, 
'  Think  nothing  gain'd,'  he  cries,  '  till  naught  remain, 
On  Moscow's  walls  till  Gothic  standards  fly, 
And  all  be  mine  beneath  the  polar  sky.' 
The  march  begins,  in  military  state, 
And  nations  on  his  eye  suspended  wait  ; 
Stern  Famine  guards  the  solitary  coast, 
And  Winter  barricades  the  realms  of  Frost  ; 
He  comes,  nor  want  nor  cold  iiis  course  delay! — 
Hide,  blushing  glory,  hide  Pultowa's  day  : 
The  vanquish'd  hero  leaves  his  broken  bands, 
And  shows  his  miseries  in  distant  lands  ; 
Condemn'd  a  needy  supplicant  to  wait. 
While  ladies  interpose,  and  slaves  debate. 


Jitvcnal.  227 

But  did  not  Chance  at  length  her  error  mend? 
Did  no  subverted  empire  mark  his  end  ? 
Did  rival  monarchs  give  the  fatal  wound  ? 
Or  hostile  millions  press  him  to  the  ground  ? 
His  fall  was  destin'd  to  a  barren  strand, 
A  petty  fortress,  and  a  dubious  hand  ; 
He  left  tlie  name  at  which  the  world  grew  pale. 
To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale. 

*So  much  perhaps  will  do  in  the  way  of  paralleling  John- 
son with  Juvenal.  In  what  remains,  from  this  point  onward 
to  the  end,  of  the  two  poems,  both  poets  are  at  their  best  in 
fecund  conception  and  in  felicitous  execution.  We,  how- 
ever, will  refrain  from  Johnson  and  confine  ourselves  to 
Juvenal.  At  the  same  tinie,  we  cordially  commend  to  read- 
ers that  have  the  taste  and  the  leisure  for  the  purpose,  a  con- 
tinued comparison  of  the  modern  with  the  ancient  poem. 

Juvenal's  satiric  genius  fairly  revels  in  describing  the 
wretchedness  of  old  age.  The  desire  of  long  life,  he  says, 
entails,  if  gratified,  unnumbered  ills.  These  ills  certainly 
were  never  more  powerfully  portrayed  than  they  are  here 
portrayed  by  Juvenal : 

Strength,  beauty,  and  a  thousand  charms  beside, 
With  sweet  distinction,  youth  from  youth  divide  ; 
While  age  presents  one  universal  face  ; 
A  faltering  voice,  a  weak  and  trembling  pace, 
An  ever-dropping  nose,  a  forehead  bare. 
And  toothless  gums  to  mumble  o'er  its  fare. 
Poor  wretch  !  behold  him,  tottering  to  his  fall, 
So  loathsome  to  himself,  wife,  childi-en,  all, 
That  those  who  hoped  the  legacy  to  share. 
And  flattered  long — disgusted,  disappear. 
The  sluggish  palate  dulled,  the  feast  no  more 
Excites  the  same  sensations  as  of  yore  ; 
Taste,  feeling,  all,  a  universal  blot. 
The  dearest  joys  of  sense  remembered  not. 

Another  loss  ! — no  joy  can  song  inspire, 
Though  famed 'Seleucus  lead  the  warbling  quire: 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


The  sweetest  airs  escape  him  ;  and  the  lute, 
Which  thrills  the  general  ear,  to  him  is  mute. 
He  sits,  perhaps,  too  distant  :  bring  him  near  ; 
Alas  !  'tis  still  the  same  :  he  scarce  can  hear 
The  deep-toned  horn,  the  trumpet's  clanging  sound, 
And  the  loud  blast  which  shakes  the  benches  round. 
Even  at  his  ear,  his  slave  must  bawl  the  hour. 
And  shout  the  comer's  name,  with  all  his  power  ! 

These  their  shrunk  shoulders,  those  their  hams  bemoan  ;     " 
This  hath  no  eyes,  and  envies  that  with  one : 
This  takes,  as  helpless  at  the  board  he  stands, 
His  food,  with  bloodless  lips,  from  others'  hands  ; 
While  that,  whose  eager  jaws,  instinctive,  spread 
At  every  feast,  gapes  feebly  to  be  fed, 
Like  Progne's  brood,  when,  laden  with  supplies. 
From  bill  to  bill  the  fasting  mother  flies. 

But  other  ills,  and  worse,  succeed  to  those  : 
His  limbs  long  since  were  gone  ;  his  memoiy  goes. 
Poor  driveler  !  he  forgets  his  servants  quite. 
Forgets,  at  morn,  with  whom  he  supped  at  night ; 
Forgets  the  children  lie  begot  and  bred  ; 
And  makes  a  strumpet  heiress  in  their  stead. 

The  alhision  to  Prog'ne  is  the  translator's,  not  Juvenal's 
own.    Progne  was  one  of  Ovid's  women,  changed  to  a  swallow. 

Two  or  three  lines  of  Johnson's  imitation  are  too  good  not, 
after  all,  to  be  quoted  here  • 

Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage. 

P'rom  Marlborougli's  eyes  the  tears  of  dotage  flow, 
And  Swift  expires  a  driveler  and  a  show. 

Juvenal  prolongs  his  detail  of  the  miseries  unconsciously 
invoked  in  prayers  for  longevity,  through  a  hundred  lines  or 
so  additional  to  those  which  we  have  given.  Out  of  Horner, 
Nestor  is  cited  as  a  witness,  and  Ulysses's  father,  Laertes,  and 
Pe'leus,  father  to  Achilles — all  living  to  deplore  their  chil- 
dren dead  or  lost;  Priam,  too,  surviving  the  glory  of  Troy, 
and   Hec'uba  transformed  to  a  barkin^r  bitch.      Mithrida'tes, 


Juvenal.  229 

then,  is  summoned,  and  Croesus  with  the  legend  of  Solon 
admonishing  him ;  and  aged  Marias  bereft  of  every  thing 
but  life  ;  and  Pompey  recovering  from  a  Campanian  fever, 
only  to  encounter  in  Egypt  a  worse  doom  of  deatli.  By  the 
mocking  irony  of  fate,  conspirators  Len'tu-lus,  Ceth-e'gus, 
Cat'i-line  escaped  at  least  the  indignity  of  bodily  mutilation 
in  dying.  Readers  depressed  by  all  this  remorseless  realism 
of  the  satirist  describing  old  age,  may  turn  forward  a  num- 
ber of  pages  and,  from  Cicero's  store,  refresh  themselves  as 
they  can,  with  the  suave  consolations  of  the  philosopher 
treating  the  same  subject. 

The  last  topic  treated  in  the  satire  is  that  of  Personal 
Beauty.  Juvenal,  with  great  power,  exhibits  the  spectacle, 
so  familiar  in  history,  of 

Beauty  and  anguish  walking  hand  in  hand 
The  downward  slope  to  death. 

We  shall  not  follow  the  satirist  in  this  part  of  his  poem. 
Some  of  the  strongest  strokes  in  it  are  of  a  nature  that  unfits 
them  to  be  reproduced  in  these  pages.  And  we  need  to  say 
that  the  dotted  lines  in  previous  extracts,  have,  more  than 
once,  marked  the  omission  of  verses  which  we  could  not 
properly  show.  In  barely  a  single  instance  foregoing — where, 
for  completion  of  thought,  it  seemed  necessary  to  retain  the 
line — we  even  ventured  on  a  silent  change  of  half  a  dozen 
words,  in  order  so  to  make  the  frankness  of  Juvenal  less  in- 
tolerable to  modern  taste. 

Here  is  a  couplet  of  Gifford's,  translating  with  spirit  a  sen- 
tence of  Juvenal's,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  satire,  that  well 
deserves  its  fame : 

A  woman  scorned  is  pitiless  as  fate, 

For  there  the  dread  of  shame  adds  stings  to  hate. 

Every  student  of  history  is  qualified,  but  a  Roman  under 
the  empire  was  peculiarly  qualified,  to  appreciate  the  justness 


230  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

of  the  sentiment.     Congreve's  couplet  will  naturally  occur  to 
some  minds  : 

Heaven  has  no  rage  like  love  to  hatred  turned, 
Nor  hell  a  fury  like  a  woman  scorned. 

The  conclusion  of  all  is  well-nigh  Christian — in  spirit, 
though  at  points  the  form  is  pagan  enough.  We  present  it 
in  the  prose  translation,  which  is  very  readable,  furnished  in 
Bohn's  Classical  Library: 

Is  there  then  nothing  for  which  men  shall  pray  ?  If  you  will  take  ad- 
vice, you  will  allow  the  deities  themselves  to  determine  what  may  be  ex- 
pedient for  us,  and  suitable  to  our  condition.  For,  instead  of  pleasant 
things,  the  gods  will  give  us  all  that  is  most  fitting.  Man  is  dearer  to 
them  than  to  himself.  We,  led  on  by  the  impulse  of  our  minds,  by  blind 
and  headstrong  passions,  pray  for  wedlock,  and  issue  by  our  wives  ;  but 
it  is  known  to  them  what  our  children  will  prove;  of  what  character  our 
wife  will  be !  Still,  that  you  may  have  somewhat  to  pray  for,  and  vow 
to  their  shrines  the  entrails  and  consecrated  mincemeat  of  the  white 
porker,  your  prayer  must  be  that  you  may  have  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body.  Pray  for  a  bold  spirit,  free  from  all  dread  of  death  ;  that  reckons, 
the  closing  scene  of  life  among  nature's  kindly  boons  ;  that  can  endure 
labor,  whatever  it  be  ;  that  knows  not  the  passion  of  anger  ;  that  covets 
nothing  ;  that  deems  the  gnawing  cares  of  Hercules,  and  all  his  cruel 
toils,  far  preferable  to  the  joys  of  Venus,  rich  banquets,  and  the  downy 
couch  of  Sar-dan-a-pa'lus.  I  show  thee  what  thou  canst  confer  upon 
thyself.  The  only  path  that  surely  leads  to  a  life  of  peace  lies  through 
virtue.  If  -we  have  wise  foresight,  thou.  Fortune,  hast  no  divinity.  It 
is  we  that  make  thee  a  deity,  and  place  thy  tlirone  in  heaven  ! 

As  might,  from  the  foregoing,  be  guessed,  the  well-worn 
phrase,  mens  sana  in  eorpore  sano,  "a  sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body,"  is  Juvenal's.  In  proposing  the  combination  thus 
named,  as  a  good  of  life  proper  to  be  prayed  for,  Juvenal 
makes  the  impression  of  being  himself  a  well-attempered 
mind  judging  as  soundly  as  a  pagan  could,  of  the  chief  earthly 
human  need. 

There  is  a  note  struck  in  tlie  conclusion  to  Juvenal's  great 
masterpiece  of  satire,  not   far  out  of  chord   with   the  closing 


Juvenal.  231 

lines  of  Bryant's  Thanatopsis.  One  word  alone  in  the  Amer- 
ican's strain  distinguishes  it  in  tone  from  the  Roman's. 
That  word  .is  "trust."  But  trust,  in  prosj)ect  of  death,  is  a 
Christian  idea,  and  Juvenal  was  no  Christian.  To  face  death 
without  fear,  but  also  without  trust, — that  was  Roman  ;  and 
Roman  of  Romans  was  Juvenal.  How  one  siglis,  and  vainly 
sighs,  with  desire  to  have  sweetened  the  bravery  and  the 
scorn  of  many  of  those  majestic  men  of  Rome  with  the  meek- 
ness of  trust  and  obedience  toward  Jesus!  This,  however, 
is  a  sentiment  that  will  visit  the  heart  still  more  naturally, 
and  still  more  impressively,  as,  in  the  following  pages,  one 
goes  on  to  familiar  acquaintance  with  Cicero  and  Pliny,  and 
with  the  friends  of  those  two  most  vividly  modern  of  Roman 
literary  men. 


VII. 
CICERO. 


In  a  former  volume  of  this  series,  we  paid  such  attention 
as  we  could  to  Cicero,  in  his  capacity  of  orator.  "\\'e  ha\e 
now  to  consider  Cicero  again,  this  time  in  his  more  general 
capacity  of  literary  man.  We  may  begin  with  a  sketch, 
necessarily  very  brief,  of  his  character  and  career. 

Cicero  is  beyond  comparison  the  most  modern  of  the  an- 
cients. We  scarce  seem  to  be  breathing  the  atmosphere  of 
antiquity  when  we  are  dealing  with  Cicero.  Especially  in 
reading  his  letters,  we  unconsciously  forget  that  the  writer 
of  these  living  lines  died  near  nineteen  hundred  years  ago. 
Cicero  was  a  most  human-hearted  man,  possessing  breadth 
enough  of  temperament  and  of  sympathy  to  ally  him  with  all 
races  and  all  ages  of  his  kind.  In  Arpinum  in  Italy,  th  ■ 
birthplace  of  one  of  Rome's  greatest  generals,  Rome's  great- 
est orator  was  born.  Caius  Marius  and  Marcus  Tullius 
Cicero  were  fellow-townsmen   by  birth.     Cicero  was  not  of 


232 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


patrician  blood;  but  his  father  was  a  gentleman  in  circum- 
stances that  enabled  him  to  give  his  son  the  best  advantages 
for  education.  These  of  course  were  to  be  found  in  Rome, 
and  to  Rome  accordingly  young  Cicero  was  sent.  Here,  at 
sixteen  years  of  age,  the  future  orator  began  his  studies  in 
law.  He  was  a  hard  student,  but  he  was  no  mere  sedentary 
recluse.     He  kept  up  an  assiduous  practice  in  elocution,  and 


he  frequented  drawing-rooms  in  which  he  could  enjoy  the 
society  of  gifted  and  accomplished  women.  It  would  be 
curious  to  guess  how  much  he  was  indebted  to  this  latter 
influence  for  the  urbanity  and  grace  that  afterward  distin- 
guished his  literary  character. 

No  great  man  perhaps  ever  lived  that  was  naturally  less 
fitted  to  be  a  soldier  than  was  Cicero.  But  some  military 
experience  Cicero  too  must  have,  if  he  vv'ould  get  on  in  the 


Cicero.  233 

Roman  world  of  politics.  For  a  year  or  two,  therefore,  "the 
gown,"  to  invert  his  own  famous  phrase,  "yielded  to  arms," 
in  the  case  of  Cicero.  The  youthful  law  student  became  a 
soldier,  under  the  father  of  Pompey.  Cicero's  soldiership 
was  not  to  be  a  very  eventful  episode  in  his  career.  He  was 
soon  back  in  Rome,  immersed  again  in  his  congenial  intel- 
lectual pursuits. 

Scarcely  had  he  made  his  brilliant  beginning  in  the  open 
practice  of  the  law,  when  he  found  it  convenient,  perhaps 
necessary  for  his  health,  to  enjoy  an  interval  of  change  and 
recreation.  This  he  sought  by  visiting  Athens,  at  that  time 
the  one  chief  city  of  the  soul  to  such  a  man  as  Cicero.  At 
Athens,  he  formed,  or  cemented,  a  friendship  destined  to 
make  the  friend  associated  with  him  in  it  as  immortal  in 
memory  as  himself.  There  was  now  residing  in  that  city  a 
Roman  who,  in  the  sequel  of  his  life,  would  grow  so  much  a 
Greek  in  spirit  as  to  acquire  the  inseparable  surname  of 
Atticus.  Atticus  became  a  life-long  friend  of  Cicero.  The 
two,  in  after  years,  maintained,  during  almost  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  a  familiar  correspondence.  Near  four  hundred  let- 
ters from  Cicero  to  Atticus  remain  to  this  day.  These  form 
a  mine  of  information,  both  as  to  the  interesting  personality 
of  Cicero,  and  as  to  the  current  political  events  of  some 
twenty-five  years  belonging  to  one  of  the  most  momentous 
periods  in  the  history  of  the  human  race.  From  this  pre- 
cious treasury  of  letters,  we  shall  presently  draw  for  illustra- 
tion at  once  of  the  literary,  and  of  the  personal,  character  of 
the  writer. 

From  Athens,  Cicero  made  a  tour  of  Asia  Minor,  availing 
himself  of  an  opportunity  at  Rhodes  to  resume  for  a  time 
his  studies  in  rhetoric,  under  a  former  tutor  of  his.  He  mar- 
ried soon  after  returning  to  Rome.  Rather  inexplicable  it 
seems  to  us,  that,  after  a  reasonably  contented  married  ex- 
perience of  thirty  years  with  Te-ren'tia  his  wife,  he  should, 
without  even  a  good  pretext  that  we  know,  have  separated 


234  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

her  from  him  by  divorce.  Loose  views  of  marriage,  shared 
by  him  in  common  vi^ith  the  general  paganism  of  his  age,  were 
probably  the  secret  of  this  act  of  Cicero's — as  well  as  of  a 
second  divorce  that  soon  followed  a  second  marriage  of  the 
orator.  Terentia  long  outlived  her  illustrious  husband,  and, 
as  Dion  Cassius  tells  us,  consoled  herself  three  times  succes- 
sively by  subsequent  marriages. 

Cicero  rapidly  made  himself  conspicuous  at  Rome.  Round 
after  round,  he  climbed  the  ladder  of  political  promotion, 
until  he  became  qurestor  in  Sicily.  The  quaestorship  was 
an  office  that  had  to  do  with  revenue  and  finance.  Cicero 
distinguished  himself  as  qucestor,  by  his  ability  and  by  his 
probity.  The  Sicilians  were  delighted  with  this  upright, 
accomplished,  and  genial  official  from  R.ome.  Their  praises 
almost  turned  the  young  fellow's  head.  Cicero  afterward 
rallied  himself  in  public  v^^ith  admirable  humor,  for  the  weak- 
ness of  vanity  indulged  by  him  on  occasion  of  the  displays 
that  were  made  in  his  honor  by  the  grateful  and  effusive 
Sicilians.  The  allusion  to  this  experience  of  his  over-sus- 
ceptible youth  was  artfully  introduced  by  the  orator  to  en- 
liven a  certain  speech  that  he  was  making.  Such  allusions 
are  easily  made  by  a  speaker  who  knows  that  his  hearers 
will  be  conscious  of  a  strong  contrast,  in  his  own  favor,  be- 
tween what  he  was  once,  and  what  he  is  universally  confessed 
to  be  now.  "  I  thought  in  my  heart,"  Cicero  said,  "  that  the 
])eople  at  Rome  must  be  talking  of  nothing  but  my  qugestor- 
ship."  He  was  duly  discharged  of  this  pleasing  illusion— -he 
proceeds  to  tell  us  how.  One  is  reminded  of  Washington 
Irving's  story,  told  by  hiin  at  his  own  expense.  "You  bear 
a  famous  name,"  remarked  to  him  a  London  tradesman,  as, 
for  some  purpose  of  business,  Irving  gave  the  man  his  ad- 
dress. Irving's  heart  fluttered  complacently  over  this  sup- 
posed acknowledgment  of  his  fame;  he  had  just  published 
a  successful  book.  "  Yes,"  went  on  the  tradesman,  "  Edward 
Irving  is  a  wonderful  preacher."     In  the  same  spirit,  Cicero 


Cicero.  235 

conceived  the  following  strain  of  allusion  to  himself — which 
may  be  taken  as  a  good  specimen  of  the  Ciceronian  pleas- 
antry,   and  Cicero  was  rated  a  very  lively  man  : 

The  people  of  Sieily  had  devised  for  me  unprecedented  honors.  So 
I  left  the  island  in  a  state  of  great  elation,  thinking  that  the  Roman 
people  would  at  once  offer  me  everything  without  my  seeking.  ]5ut 
when  I  was  leaving  my  province,  and  on  my  road  home,  I  happened  to 
land  at  Pu-te'o-li  just  at  the  time  when  a  good  many  of  our  most  fash- 
ionable people  are  accustomed  to  resort  to  that  neighborhood.  I  very 
nearly  collapsed,  gentlemen,  when  a  man  asked  me  what  day  I  had  left 
Rome,  and  whether  there  was  any  news  stirring?  When  I  made 
answer  that  I  was  returning  from  my  province — "O!  yes,  to  be  sure," 
said  he  ;  "Africa,  I  believe?  "  "  No,"  said  I  to  him,  considerably  annoyed 
and  disgusted  ;  "  from  Sicily."  Then  somebody  else,  with  an  air  of  a 
man  who  knew  all  about  it,  said  to  him—"  What !  don't  you  know  that 
he  was  qucestor  at  Syractise?  "  [It  was  at  Li-ly-bte'um — quite  a  differ- 
ent district.]  No  need  to  make  a  long  story  of  it ;  I  swallowed  my 
indignation,  and  made  as  though  I,  like  the  rest,  had  come  there  for 
the  waters. 

Cicero's  "  improvement  "  of  the  lesson  was  highly  charac- 
teristic, both  of  the  Roman  and  of  Cicero.  He  did  not  use 
it  to  impress  upon  his  mind  a  more  judicious  opinion  of  him- 
self. He  simply  turned  it  to  thrifty  account  for  his  own  per- 
sonal advantage  in  Roman  politics.  With  great  frankness — 
a  frankness,  by  the  way,  which  proves  that  bald  self-seeking 
might  Avithout  shame  be  openly  confessed  in  that  ancient 
pagan  world — Cicero  says  he  learned,  from  this  passage  in 
his  early  experience,  how  important  it  was  for  his  own  profit 
that  he  should  keep  himself  constantly  familiar  before  the 
eyes  of  his  countrymen  at  Rome,  and  that  he  should  sedu- 
lously practice  every  art  of  popularity.  The  following  are 
the  orator's  own  words.  We  use  for  the  present  extract  a 
translation  given  by  Mr.  Collins  in  his  volume  on  Cicero,  be- 
longing to  the  series  of  Ancient  Classics  for  English  Readers. 
(This  series  is  now  obtainable  in  two  American  reprints,  a 
fairly  good  cheap  one,  issued  by   Mr.  John  B.  Alden,  New 


236  Collci^e  Latin  Course  in  English. 

York,  and  a  better  one,  at  a  higher  price,  issued  by  Messrs. 
J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia) : 

But  I  am  not  sure,  gentlemen,  whether  that  scene  did  not  do  me 
more  good  than  if  everybody  then  and  there  had  publicly  congratulated 
me.  For  after  I  had  thus  found  out  that  the  people  of  Rome  have 
somewhat  deaf  ears,  but  veiy  keen  and  sharp  eyes,  I  left  off  cogitating 
what  people  would  hear  about  me  ;  I  took  care  that  thenceforth  they 
should  see  me  before  them  every  day  :  I  lived  in  their  sight,  1  stuck 
close  to  the  Forum  ;  the  porter  at  my  gate  refused  no  man  admittance — 
my  veiy  sleep  was  never  allowed  to  be  a  plea  against  an  audience. 

How  thoroughly  a  politician  in  spirit  Cicero  was,  and  how 
willingly  he  confessed  that  fact  to  the  people  of  Rome — whom 
he  flattered  in  the  very  act  of  so  confessing  it — is  well  shown 
in  the  following  sentences,  not  given  by  Mr.  Collins,  from 
the  same  speech  that  furnished  the  foregoing  citations: 

This  is  the  inalienable  privilege  of  a  free  people,  and  especially  of  this 
the  chief  people  of  the  world,  the  lord  and  conqueror  of  all  nations,  to 
be  able  by  their  votes  to  give  or  to  take  away  what  they  please  to  or 
from  any  one.  And  it  is  our  duty, — ours,  I  say,  who  are  driven  about  by 
the  winds  and  waves  of  this  people,  to  bear  the  whims  of  the  people  with 
moderation,  to  strive  to  w  in  over  their  affections  when  alienated  from 
us,  to  retain  them  when  we  have  won  them,  to  tranquillize  them  when 
in  a  state  of  agitation.  If  we  do  not  think  honors  of  any  great  conse- 
quence, we  are  not  bound  to  be  subservient  to  the  people  ;  if  we  do 
strive  for  them,  then  we  must  be  unwearied  in  soliciting  them. 

The  Roman  people  enforced  a  good  deal  of  meekness  in 
their  candidates  for  office.  Successful  politicians  had  to 
learn  the  distasteful  art  of  stooping  to  conquer. 

The  first  really  great  display  of  oratory  from  Cicero,  was 
his  impeachment  of  Verres.  Verres  had  been  prsetor  in 
Sicily,  and  had  there  signalized  his  administration  of  office 
with  more  than  normal  Roman  cruelty.  Cicero  brought  him 
to  trial.  It  was  a  conspicuous  occasion — conspicuous  by  the 
gravity  of  the  accusation,  by  the  rank  of  the  accused,  but 
above  all  by  the  eloquence  of  the  accuser.  Verres  bent  be- 
fore the  blast.     Without  waiting  the   issue  of  the  trial,  he 


Cicero.  237 

withdrew  to  Marseilles;  but  Cicero  finished  and  published 
his  speech  notwithstanding — as  dreadful  an  arraignment  for 
crime  as  perhaps  ever  was  launched  from  human  lips  against 
a  criminal.  Cicero  was  from  this  moment  the  foremost 
orator  of  Rome.  Every  thing  now  lay  possible  before  him. 
He  was  soon  consul.  His  merit  and  his  fortune  together 
mnde  his  consulship  the  most  illustrious  in  the  annals  of 
Rome.  That  year  was  the  year  of  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline. 
This  great  political  crime,  Cicero  had  the  good  luck  and  the 
sagacity  mingled,  to  detect,  the  courage,  with  the  eloquence, 
to  denounce,  and  the  practical  address  completely  to  foil.  His 
conduct  gave  him  the  proud  title  of  Father  of  his  Country. 
No  one  ever  relished  success  more  frankly  than  did  Cicero. 
He  never  wearied  of  sounding  out  the  praises  of  his  own 
consulship.  Cicero  in  fact  was  deeply  encased  with  panoply 
of  self-complacency.  This  armor  served  him  well  for  de- 
fense against  many  an  inward  wound;  but  Cicero's  vanity, 
and  an  insincerity  in  him  that  was  close  of  kin  to  vanity, 
have  proved  indelible  blemishes  on  the  fair  face  of  his  fame. 
Out  of  the  heart  itself  of  the  success  achieved  by  him  in 
the  matter  of  Catiline,  sprang  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
calamities  that  marked  Cicero's  checkered,  and  at  last  trag- 
ical, career.  A  bill  was  introduced  into  the  senate  empow- 
ering Pompey,  now  returned  in  triumph  from  the  war  against 
Mithridates,  to  "restore  the  violated  constitution."  This 
ominous  language  had  Cicero  for  its  aim.  Cicero  had  put 
Roman  citizens  to  death  without  regular  trial.  Julius  Caesar 
was  demagogue  enough  to  support  the  bill.  The  bill  failed  in 
the  senate,  but  Cicero  did  not  escape.  A  personal  enemy  of  his 
got  the  people  of  Rome  to  pass  sentence  of  banishment  upon 
him.  The  better  classes  were  sorry,  the  senate  was  sorry — in 
vain.  Both  Caesar  and  Pompey,  on  good  terms  then  with  each 
other,  refused  their  intervention  in  Cicero's  favor,  and  the 
great  ex-consul,  late  flourishing  like  a  green  bay-tree,  went. 
Stripped   of  possessions  and   of  honors  —  and,   one   grieves 


CoHesre  Latin  Com'se  in  English. 


to  say  it,  with  the  pith  of  inward  courage  and  dignity  gone 
out  of  him — into  an  exile,  not  so  long  as  Ovid's,  but  hardly 
less  inglorious  than  his.  He  had,  in  prospect  of  what  im- 
pended, gravely  asked  his  friends  whether  he  had  not  better 
make  away  with  himself  out  of  hand,  and  have  done  with 
life  altogether. 

A  great  compensation  awaited  the  disconsolate  exile. 
After  a  year  and  a  half,  Cicero  was  brought  back  to  Rome 
like  a  conqueror.  No  military  triumph  decreed  him  could 
have  done  him  half  the  honor,  or  have  yielded  him  half  the 
generous  joy,  that  now  overflowingly  filled  his  cup  in  the 
magnificent  popular  ovation  spontaneously  prolonged  to  the 
returning  patriot  through  an  imperial  progress  on  his  part  of 
twenty-four  days  from  Brundusium  to  Rome.  Cicero's  heart 
swelled  with  unbounded  elation.  The  height  of  the  joy  was 
as  had  been  the  depth  of  the  sorrow.  Let  Cicero  himself 
describe  his  triumph  for  us.  We  draw  once  more  from 
Mr.  Collins 's  little  volume  : 

Wlio  does  not  know  what  my  return  home  was  like?  How  the  people 
of  Brundusium  held  out  to  me,  as  I  might  say,  the  right  hand  of  wel- 
come on  behalf  of  all  my  native  land?  From  thence  to  Rome  my 
progress  was  like  a  march  of  all  Italy.  There  was  no  district,  no  town, 
corporation,  or  colony,  from  which  a  public  deputation  was  not  sent  to 
congratulate  me.  Why  need  I  speak  of  my  arrival  at  each  place  ?  how 
the  people  crowded  the  streets  in  the  towns  ;  how  they  flocked  in  from 
the  country — fathers  of  families  with  wives  and  children?  How  can  I 
describe  those  days,  when  all  kept  holiday,  as  though  it  were  some  high 
festival  of  the  immortal  gods,  in  joy  for  my  safe  return  ?  That  single 
day  was  to  me  like  immortality  ;  when  I  returned  to  my  own  city,  when 
I  saw  the  Senate  and  the  population  of  all  ranks  come  forth  to  greet  me, 
when  Rome  herself  looked  as  though  she  had  wrenched  herself  from  her 
foundations  to  rush  to  embrace  her  preserver.  For  she  received  me  in 
such  sort,  that  not  only  all  sexes,  ages,  and  callings,  men  and  women  of 
every  rank  and  degree,  but  even  the  very  walls,  the  houses,  the  temples, 
seemed  to  share  the  universal  joy. 

But  Cicero  was  fallen  on  evil  days.  Rome  sat  uneasily  on 
a  repressed,  but    not  long  repressible,  volcano.     The   time 


Cicero.  239 

providentially  appointed  for  Cassar  was  drawing  near.  The 
city  was  full  of  disturbance — the  undulation  to  and  fro  of  an 
eruption  preparing,  but  not  yet  prepared.  Cicero,  however, 
goes  on  a  few  years  in  prosperous  practice  of  his  profession, 
and  in  the  fruition  of  accumulating  honors.  He  is  then 
got  out  of  the  way  of  rivals,  to  whom  he  might  be  trouble- 
some in  their  joint  contention  against  him  for  power,  by 
being  sent  as  governor  to  Cilicia.  This  governorship  pre- 
sented to  Cicero  an  opportunity  for  enriching  himself. 
But  he  was  already  rich,  and,  to  do  him  but  justice,  he 
never  seemed  greedy  for  more.  He  governed  his  province 
purely  and  wisely.  When  he  returned  to  Rome,  with  the 
mild  glory  of  just  and  successful  administration  surround- 
ing him,  he  found  the  issue  ready  to  be  joined  in  deadly 
duel  for  empire  between  Csesar  and  Pompey.  He  cast 
in  his  own  lot  with  Pompey.  But  he  did  not  wholly  trust 
Pompey.  Indeed  he  despaired  of  the  republic  —  which- 
ever might  win,  Pompey  or  Cresar.  A  despotism  was,  he 
thought,  in  either  event,  the  certain  result.  A  despotism 
indeed  resulted,  but  it  was  a  better,  because  a  stronger,  and 
a  wiser,  despotism  than  would  have  been  the  despotism  that 
Cicero,  half-heartedly  and  haltingly,  seems  to  have  preferred. 
Of  Cicero's  relation  to  Ccesar,  during  the  brief  term  of  Cse- 
sar's  enjoyment  of  that  supreme  power  which,  as  Pliny  tells 
us  the  conqueror  himself  used  to  say,  it  had  cost  a  million 
and  a  half  of  human  lives,  in  Gaul  alone,  to  win — enough  will 
be  indicated  in  the  extracts  from  Cicero's  letters  to  follow. 
Cicero  was  not  of  those  who  conspired  against  Caesar,  but 
he  rejoiced  at  the  great  man's  bloody  death — openly,  almost 
savagely,  rejoiced.  He  thought  that  the  republic — that 
dream,  that  ideal,  of  his  love — was  about  to  be  restored. 
But  he  thought  wrong,  and  he  paid  the  price  of  his  mistake 
with  his  blood. 

The  period  during  which  Cicero,  with  his  tongue,  waged 
war  against  Antony,  was  the   most   truly  glorious  of  his  life. 


240  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


Rufus  Choate  has  celebrated  it,  with  pomp  of  numerous 
prose,  beating  in  a  rhythm  answering  to  the  rhythm  of  Cicero 
himself,  in  a  splendid  discourse  on  the  "  Eloquence  of  Revo- 
lutionary Periods."  Cicero  was  a  true  hero  now.  His  face, 
his  form,  his  gait,  are  transfigured,  like  those  of  O-dys'seus  at 
the  gift  of  Pallas  Ath-e'ne.  One  is  pathetically  comforted 
and  glad,  to  behold  the  orator,  the  statesman,  the  pliilosopher, 
the  man- — whom,  before  tliis,  one  could  not  wholly  admire — 
divested  at  length  of  the  weakness  of  vanity  and  of  fear, 
marching  forward  erect  and  elate,  like  a  demigod  out  of 
Homer,  and  as  with  a  kind  of  menacing  and  triumphing  wel- 
come to  his  doom.  His  doom  met  him  with  equal  advancing 
steps.  The  story  is  familiar,  but  it  bears  to  be  told  again 
and  again. 

The  triumvirate  had  triumphed  over  the  republicans,  and 
therefore  over  Cicero.  They  made  out  a  list  for  death,  and 
Antony  included  Cicero's  name.  It  was  the  usurper's  re- 
venge for  Cicero's  philippics  against  him.  Cicero  was  at  his 
Tusculan  villa  when  he  heard  that  he  was  proscribed.  He 
sought  to  escape  from  the  country.  But  life  was  no  longer 
dear  to  him,  and,  after  some  irresolution,  he  decided  to  die  by 
his  own  act.  He  would  first  rest  a  while,  and  then  go  hence. 
While  he  was  resting,  Antony's  emissaries  came.  Cicero's 
servants  hastened,  with  their  master  borne  on  a  litter,  toward 
the  sea.  But  the  soldiers  were  too  quick  for  them.  The 
servants  affectionately  and  bravely  addressed  themselves  for 
fight  with  their  pursuers.  But  Cicero  forbade  them.  He 
stretched  forth  his  head  and  neck  from  the  litter,  and  sum- 
moned the  soldiers  to  take  what  they  wanted.  They  wanted 
his  head  and  his  hands.  These  they  bore  with  speed  to 
Antony  in  the  forum.  Antony  feasted  his  famished  grudge 
with  the  sight,  and  had  them  fixed  for  general  view  on  the 
rostra  from  whicli,  in  better  times,  Cicero  so  often  had 
spoken.  Tlie  tears  that  Rome  shed  were  wept  perhaps  as 
much  for  herself,  as  for  her  Tully. 


Cicero. 


241 


Tully's  praises  were  silent  during  the  time  of  Augustus — 
for  to  praise  Cicero  would  have  been  to  blame  the  emperor 
—  but  they  broke  out  again  soon 
after,  and  they  have  since  filled  the 
world.  Cicero's  name  is  second,  if 
it  is  not  first,  among  the  best  glories 
of  Rome. 

It  was  during  the  troublous  times 
which  fell  after  the  republic  had 
ceased  and  before  the  triumvirate 
had  begun,  that  Cicero  solaced  him- 
self with  philosophy.  Cicero  was 
not  properly  a  philosopher.  He 
wrote  philosophy,  not  as  philosopher, 
but  as  man  of  letters.  He  sought 
to  understand  the  philosophers  of 
Greece,  Plato  especially,  and  to  in- 
terpret these  to  his  countrymen. 
He  sought  even  to  construct  out 
of  the  various  philosophies  of  others  an  eclectic  philosophical 
system  of  his  own.  The  product  of  Cicero's  efforts  may  not 
be  very  valuable  philosophy,  but  it  is  certainly  delightful 
literature.  The  essay  on  Old  Age,  and  the  essay  on  Friend- 
ship, written,  as  nearly  all  Cicero's  miscellaneous  works  were 
written,  in  the  form  of  dialogues,  are  rather  to  be  considered 
essays  merely,  in  the  modern  sense  of  that  word,  than  trea- 
tises in  philosophy,  even  as  the  ancients  understood  philos- 
ophy. The  "  De  Finibus  Bonorum  et  Malorum  "  ("  Con- 
cerning the  Ends  of  Life"),  the  "  Academica,"  "The  Tus- 
culan  Disputations,"  so  called  from  the  scene  in  which  the 
dialogue  is  supposed  to  take  place,  namely,  Tusculum,  where 
was  a  villa  of  Cicero's,  the  "  De  Officiis "  ("Concerning 
Moral  Duties"),  are  his  principal  works  in  philosophy.  The 
last-named  work  is  addressed  by  the  writer  to  his  son,  at  the 
time  a  student  at  Athens.  It  may  be  compared  and  con- 
11 


242  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

trasted  with  Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters  to  his  Son.  Dr.  A. 
P.  Peabody  has  lately  translated  the  De  Officiis,  and  the  De 
Senectute.  From  his  version,  we  are  permitted  by  him 
and  his  publishers  to  draw  some  extracts,  to  stand  as  speci- 
mens of  Cicero's  philosophical  and  ethical  vein.  Cicero  is 
great  by  quantity,  as  well  as  by  qii,ality,  and  we  can  do  little 
more  than  furnish  appetizing  tastes  of  the  feast  that  is  spread 
for  all  comers,  in  his  manifold  literary  works. 

We  begin  with  selections — few  and  brief  they  must  be — 
from  Cicero's  letters.  It  will  be  satisfactory,  when  we  come 
to  read  his  ethics,  to  have  learned  what  manner  of  man  is 
behind  the  words  that  are  spoken. 

There  is  nothing  else  whatever  saved  to  us  from  the  so- 
called  ancient  world,  that  brings  that  world  so  near  and 
makes  it  seem  so  modern,  as  do  the  letters  of  Cicero.  These 
compose  a  considerable  volume,  from  which  copious  selec- 
tions have  been  made  accessible  to  the  English  public,  in 
very  good  translation.  Mr.  G.  E.  Jeans,  of  Oxford  Univer- 
sity, England,  has  lately  published  a  scholarly  version  of 
what  may  now  be  regarded  as  the  accepted  standard  collec- 
tion, that  of  Mr.  Watson,  from  the  voluminous  extant  cor- 
respondence of  Cicero.  In  this  collection,  some  letters, 
written  not  by  Cicero  but  to  him,  are  justly  included  with 
his  own  epistles,  as  throwing  a  necessary  light  of  illustration 
upon  these.  The  correspondence  with  Atticus  is,  both  in 
quantity  and  in  quality,  the  most  important  part  of  the  vol- 
ume. This  constitutes,  in  fact,  as  already  suggested,  a  valu- 
able resource  to  historians  for  contemporary  information 
on  the  course  of  events,  and  on  the  motives  and  the 
relations  of  public  men,  during  the  most  momentous  period 
in  the  history  of  Rome.  We,  of  course,  have  here  no 
room  to  exhibit  fully  this  historical  aspect  of  Cicero's  let- 
ters. We  strictly  limit  ourselves.  We  shall  lay  before  our 
readers  a  letter  or  two  of  Cicero's  bearing  on  his  relation  to 
Csesar,  and  then,  having  further  cited  some  communications 


Cicero.  243 

exchanged  between  Cicero  and  one  of  his  friends  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  death  of  the  orator's  beloved  daughter,  Tullia, 
turn  our  face  reluctantly  away  from  this  section,  still  quiver- 
ing with  its  inextinguishable  life,  taken  out  of  the  very  heart 
of  ancient  Roman  society. 

Cassar  was  now  master  of  the  world.  But  Cicero  was  a  suf- 
ficiently important  figure  in  the  world,  for  Csesar  to  court  him 
— as  princes  have  their  way  of  courting  great  subjects.  The 
dictator  invited  himself  to  dine  with  the  orator.  The  time 
was  mid-December,  the  place,  uncertain — perhaps  Pu-te'o-li,  at 
any  rate  one  among  the  many  country  residences  of  the  rich 
and  fortunate  Cicero.  The  Saturnalia  (feast  of  Saturn)  were 
on,  and  it  was  a  season  of  general  freedom  and  hilarity. 
Cicero  describes  the  occasion  in  a  familiar  letter  to  his 
friend  Atticus.  It  has  been  conjectured  by  ingenious  schol- 
ars that  the  Latin  was  never  a  spoken  language,  at  least  that 
it  was  never  the  vernacular  of  the  populace  of  Rome.  It 
seems  too  stately,  too  elaborate,  too  difficult  in  construction, 
so  some  have  thought,  ever  to  have  accommodated  itself  to 
the  uses  of  homely  every-day  life.  But  here  surely  Cicero 
bends  it  successfully  to  his  colloquial  need.  Very  different 
from  the  processional  pomp  of  the  most  leisurely  and  most 
finished  orations  of  Cicero,  is  the  negligence,  the  freedom, 
the  ease,  with  which  he  expresses  himself,  half  humorously, 
and  with  much  written  in  invisible  ink  between  the  lines,  in 
the  following  letter.  It  needs  to  be  explained  that  there  was 
apparently  a  tacit  playful  understanding  between  Cicero  and 
his  half-Greek  friend  Atticus,  that  they  should  freely  inter- 
lard the  text  of  their  correspondence  with  phrases  borrowed 
from  Greek.  Mr.  Jeans  has,  with  excellent  judgment,  sought 
to  reproduce  the  effect  for  us,  by  putting  the  Greek  used  by 
Cicero  into  an  equivalent  of  French.  Those  readers  of  ours 
who  know  French,  will  readily  excuse  it,  if,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  readers  of  ours  who  do  not,  we  hint  in  English  the 
meaning  of  the  few  foreign  phrases  that  here  occur : 


244  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Oh,  what  a  formidable  guest  to  have  had  !  and  yet  je  ne'n  stiis  pas 
fdche  [I  am  not  sorry]  he  was  in  such  a  very  agreeable  mood.  But 
after  his  arrival  at  Philippus's  house,  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  of 
the  Saturnalia,  the  whole  establishment  was  so  crowded  with  soldiers 
that  even  the  room  where  Ceesar  himself  was  to  dine  could  hardly  be 
kept  clear  from  them  ;  it  is  a  fact  that  there  were  two  thousand  men ! 
Of  course  I  was  nervous  about  what  might  be  the  case  with  me  next 
day,  and  so  Cassius  Barba  came  to  my  assistance  ;  he  gave  me  some 
men  on  guard.  The  camp  was  pitched  out  of  doors  ;  my  villa  was  made 
secure.  On  the  third  day  of  the  Saturnalia  he  stayed  at  Philippus's  till 
near  one,  and  admitted  nobody  (accounts  with  Balbus,  I  suppose);  then 
took  a  walk  on  the  beach.  After  two  to  the  bath  :  then  he  heard  about 
Ma-mur'ra  ;  he  made  no  objection.  Me  was  then  rubbed  down  with  oil, 
and  dinner  began.  It  was  his  intention  se  falre  vo7nir  [to  take  a 
vomit],  and  consequently  he  ate  and  drank  sans  peur  [freely],  and 
with  much  satisfaction.  And  certainly  every  tiling  was  very  good,  and 
well  served  ;  nay  more,  I  may  say  that 

'  Though  the  cook  was  good, 
'Twas  Attic  salt  that  flavored  best  the  food.' 

There  were  three  dining-rooms  besides,  where  there  was  a  very  hospit- 
able reception  for  the  gentlemen  of  his  suite;  while  the  inferior  class  of 
freedmen  and  slaves  had  abundance  at  any  rate  ;  for  as  to  the  better 
class,  they  had  a  more  refined  table.  In  .short,  I  think  I  acquitted  my- 
self like  a  man.  The  guest,  however,  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to 
whom  you  would  say,  '  I  shall  be  most  delighted  if  you  will  come  here 
again  on  your  way  back;'  once  is  enough.  As  to  our  conversation,  it 
was  mostly  like  that  of  iwo  savants  [men  of  letters];  nothing  was  said 
au  grand  serieux  [in  a  very  serious  vien].  Well,  I  will  only  say  that  he 
was  greatly  pleased,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  himself.  He  told  me  that  he 
should  be  one  day  at  Puteoli,  and  the  next  near  Baiee.  Here  you  have 
the  story  of  his  visit — or,  shall  I  say,  '  billeting '  ? — which,  I  told  you, 
was  a  thing  one  would  shrink  from,  but  did  not  give  much  trouble.  I  am 
for  Tusculum  next  after  a  short  stay  here. 

When  he  was  passing  Dolabella's  house,  but  nowhere  else,  the  whole 
guard  was  paraded  in  arms  on  either  side  of  him  as  he  rode  ;  I  have  it 
from  Nicias. 

The  alltision  abotit  Mamurra  is  obscure.  Generally  it  is 
taken  to  mean  certain  scathing  epigrams  on  Caesar  and  Ma- 
murra,  from   the    pen   of  the    poet   Catullus.       "  He    never 


Cicero.  245 

changed  countenance,"  is  Middleton's  rendering,  in  place  of 
Mr.  Jeans's  "he  made  no  objection." 

The  taking  of  a  vomit  before  and  after  meals  was  a  not 
uncommon  Roman  habit  of  the  times.  It  Avas  not  only  an 
epicure's  expedient  for  better  enjoying,  and  enjoying  more 
safely,  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  but  it  was  a  current  med- 
ical prescription  for  improving  the  health.  Caesar's  purposed 
post -prandial  vomit  (ante  -  prandial,  Middleton  makes  it) 
was  not  therefore  an  exceptional  bit  of  epicurism.  Rather, 
it  is  to  be  regarded  as  good  guestship  on  his  part.  Ccesar 
thus  intimated  to  Cicero  that  he  expected  a  good  dinner, 
and  was  intending  to  do  his  host's  fare  full  dictatorial  justice. 

The  quotation  in  verse  is  from  Lucilius.  Cicero  has  it 
again  in  his  "  De  Finibus."  "Or  shall  I  say  'billeting'.'" 
is  Cicero's  way  of  implying  to  Atticus  that  Caesar's  visit, 
having  been  accepted  rather  than  invited,  might  be  looked 
upon  as  in  the  nature  of  a  military  quartering  of  himself  by 
Caesar  on  his  host's  hospitality.  We  may  venture  however 
to  guess,  both  from  Cicero's  characteristic  genial  good  nat- 
ure and  from  his  shrewd  eye  to  the  main  chance,  that  Caesar 
was  not  suffered  to  feel  any  lack  of  seeming-spontaneous 
cordiality,  in  that  day's  entertainment. 

Cicero's  relations  to  Caesar  had  naturally  all  along,  after 
Caesar's  definitive  triumph,  been  a  very  delicate  matter. 
Caesar,  on  his  part,  with  that  magnificent  clemency,  mixed 
in  uncertain  proportion  with  that  far-sighted  thrift,  which 
equally  belonged  to  his  character,  signalled  Cicero  in  various 
ways,  as  much  as  to  say,  Let  us  be  good  friends  with  each 
other.  Cicero  consulted  his  own  dignity  by  remaining  som.e- 
what  shy  of  Caesar.  Perhaps  too  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  his 
formidable  suitor.  Besides,  it  may  be  that  he  did  not  at 
once  see  his  way  to  preserving  an  appearance  of  consistency 
in  his  course,  should  he,  a  Pompeian,  become  suddenly  an  ad- 
herent of  Caesar.  Atticus  counseled  to  Cicero  complaisance 
toward  Ca2sar.     '  Send  the  great  man  some  composition  of 


246  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

yours  directly  addressed  to  him,'  Atticus  suggested.  Cicero 
finally  made  the  draft  of  a  letter  to  Caesar,  and  submitted  it 
for  judgment  to  his  friends.  Atticus  thought  it  would  do; 
but  the  others  found  it  too  free.  Cicero  would  not  alter  it  to 
suit  them,  and  he  finally  kept  it  to  himself  It  became  how- 
ever the  subject  of  several  interesting  passages  in  Cicero's 
letters  to  Atticus.  Cicero  in  these  appears  to  better  advan- 
tage as  a  man  of  spirit  and  character  than  perhaps  upon  the 
whole  he  deserves — for  Cicero's  strength  was  at  times  sadly 
offset  by  his  weakness.  Mr.  Jeans,  who  seems  inclined  al- 
ways, as  the  fashion  now  is,  to  bear  hardly  on  Cicero,  does 
not  translate  these  letters.  We  go  to  Middleton's  Life  of 
Cicero  for  our  extracts  : 

As  for  the  letter  to  C^sar,  I  was  always  very  willing  that  they  [Cic- 
ero's friends,  before  alluded  to]  should  first  read  it ;  for  otherwise  I  had 
both  been  wanting  in  civility  to  them,  and  if  I  had  happened  to  give 
offence,  exposed  nayself  also  to  danger.  They  have  dealt  ingenuously 
and  kindly  with  me  in  not  concealing  what  they  thought ;  but  what 
pleases  me  the  most  is,  that  by  requiring  so  many  alterations  they  give 
me  an  excuse  for  not  writing  at  all.  As  to  the  Parthian  war,  what  had  I 
to  consider  about  it  but  that  which  I  thought  would  please  him  ?  for 
what  subject  was  there  else  for  a  letter  but  flattery  ?  or  if  I  had  a  mind 
to  advise  what  I  really  took  to  be  the  best,  could  I  have  been  at  a  loss 
for  words?  There  is  no  occasion,  therefore,  for  any  letter:  for  where 
there  is  no  great  matter  to  be  gained,  and  a  slip,  though  not  great,  may 
make  us  uneasy,  what  reason  is  there  to  run  any  risk?  especially  when 
it  is  natural  for  him  to  think  that  as  I  wrote  nothing  to  him  before,  so  I 
should  have  written  nothing  now,  had  not  the  war  been  wholly  ended  : 
besides  I  am  afraid  lest  he  should  imagine  that  I  sent  this  as  a  sweet- 
ener for  my  "Cato."  In  short,  I  was  heartily  ashamed  of  what  I  had 
written  ;  and  nothing  could  fall  out  more  luckily  than  that  it  did  not 
please. 

Cato  had  always  stood  up  stoutly  against  Ccesar,  and  on 
Cato's  death  Cicero  had  pronounced  a  panegyric  upon  him. 
C?esar  found  time  afterward  to  publish  a  reply  to  this,  so 
good,  and  conceived  with  such  courtesy  toward  Cicero,  that 
Cicero  made  it  at  last  the  long-waited-for  occasion  of  his  re- 


Cicero.  247 

turn  signal  to  Caesar.     Meantime,  however,  to  Atticus  still 
urging  his  friend  to  propitiate  Caesar,  Cicero  writes  again  : 

As  for  writing  to  Cassar,  I  swear  to  you  I  cannot  do  it :  nor  is  it  yet 
the  shame  of  it  that  deters  me  wiiich  ought  to  do  it  the  most  ;  for  how 
mean  woukl  it  be  to  flatter  when  even  to  live  is  base  in  me  ?  But  it  is 
not,  as  I  was  saying,  this  shame  which  hinders  me,  though  I  wish 
it  did,  for  I  should  then  be  what  I  ought  to  be  ;  but  I  can  think  of 
nothin'T  to  write  upon.  As  to  those  exhortations  addressed  to  Alexander 
[the  Great]  by  the  eloquent  and  the  learned  of  that  time,  you  see  on  what 
points  they  turn  :  they  are  addressed  to  a  youth  inflamed  with  the  thirst 
of  true  glory  and  desiring  to  be  advised  how  to  acquire  it.  On  an  occa- 
sion of  such  dignity  words  can  never  be  wanting  ;  but  what  can  I  do  on 
my  subject  ?  Yet  I  had  scratched  as  it  were  out  of  the  block  some  faint 
resemblance  of  an  image  ;  but  because  there  were  some  things  hinted  in 
it  a  little  better  than  what  we  see  done  every  day,  it  was  disliked.  I  am 
not  at  all  sorry  for  it  ;  for  had  the  letter  gone,  take  my  word  for  it,  I 
should  have  had  cause  to  repent.  For  do  you  not  see  that  very  scholar 
of  Aristotle  [Alexander  the  Great]  a  youth  of  the  greatest  parts  and 
the  greatest  modesty,  after  he  came  to  be  called  a  king,  grow  proud, 
cruel,  extravagant  ?  Do  you  imagine  that  this  man,  ranked  in  the  pro- 
cessions of  the  gods  and  enshrined  in  the  same  temple  with  Romulus, 
will  be  pleased  with  the  moderate  style  of  my  letters  ?  It  is  better  that 
he  be  disgusted  at  my  not  writing,  than  at  what  I  write.  In  a  word,  let 
him  do  what  he  pleases  ;  for  that  problem  which  I  once  proposed  to  you 
and  thought  so  difficult,  in  what  way  I  should  manage  him,  is  over  with 
me  ;  and  in  truth  I  now  wish  more  to  feel  the  effect  of  his  resentment, 
be  it  what  it  will,  than  I  was  before  afraid  of  it. 

Once  more  :  "  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this,"  writes  Cicero, 
"but  show  ourselves  half  free  by  our  silence  and  retreat." 

Anthony  Trollope  has  a  very  readable  life  of  Cicero.  The 
author  is  throughout  animated  by  a  spirit  of  something  like 
personal  affection  for  his  hero.  The  natural  pugnacity,  said 
to  have  belonged  to  Mr.  Trollope's  temperament,  adds  a  zest 
of  its  own  to  what  he  writes  on  Cicero's  behalf.  He  writes 
with  unquestionable  honesty  of  purpose,  but  with  a  piquant 
zeal  of  antagonism  too,  against  Mr.  Froude  especially,  but 
also  against  the  rest  of  the  recent  revilers  of  Cicero.  The 
scholarship  displayed  by  Mr.  Trollope,  if  not  of  the  highest 


248  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


order,  is  at  least  very  creditable  to  this  hard-worked  man  of 
many  novels.  To  him  belongs  the  credit  of  pointing  out  a 
mistake,  that  would  be  singular  occurring  in  the  pages  of  a  more 
conscientious  writer,  committed  by  Mr.  Froude,  in  translating 
a  certain  harmless  expression  of  Cicero's  as  if  it  brutally 
suggested  the  idea  of  assassinating  Csesar.  The  expression 
mistranslated  is  one  found  in  the  longer  extract  just  now 
presented  to"  our  readers.  Mr.  Froude's  fatuity  in  the  mat- 
ter was  singularly  self-confuting.  He  supplied,  in  a  note, 
every  thing  that  the  careful  reader  required  to  satisfy  him- 
self of  the  blunder  committed.  Cicero's  words,  cited  by 
Mr.  Froude  himself,  are  ''Cum  vivere  ipsum  turpe  sit  nobis.'' 
Mr.  Froude  blunders  by  giving  the  word  "  ipsuni'  an  impos- 
sible reference  to  Caesar,  and  so  making  the  expression  mean 
"when  that  he  [C^sar]  should  be  alive  is  a  disgrace  to  us." 
The  true  sense  is,  "when  the  very  fact  of  living  [in  such  a 
state  of  things]  is  disgraceful  to  us." 

Cicero  found,  as  we  have  said,  his  opportunity  of  offering 
sacrifice  to  the  dictator.  Of  the  letter  which  he  finally  wrote, 
he  says  to  Atticus  : 

I  forgot  to  send  you  a  copy  of  what  I  wrote  to  Ccesar ;  not  for  the 
reason  which  you  suspect,  that  I  was  ashamed  to  let  you  see  how  well 
I  could  flatter  ;  for  in  truth  I  wrote  to  him  no  otherwise  than  as  if  I  was 
writing  to  an  equal,  for  I  really  have  a  good  opinion  of  his  two  books,  as 
I  told  you  when  we  were  together,  and  wrote,  therefore,  both  witliout 
flattering  him,  and  yet  so  that  he  will  read  notliing,  I  believe,  with 
more  pleasure. 

Readers  of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  Course  "  will  remem- 
ber the  strain  of  extravagant  ascription  to  Caesar  in  which 
Cicero,  on  a  signal  occasion,  expressed  himself  to  the  senate; 
we  allude  to  the  celebrated  oration  for  Marcus  Marcellus. 
It  will  be  interesting  to  bring  forward  a  letter  which  Cicero 
writes  to  a  valued  friend  of  his  bearing  on  the  subject  of  this 
speech.  The  letter  now  referred  to  presents  Cnssar  in  a 
highly  favorable    light,  and  we  are  able  to  show  it  in  the 


Cicero.  249 

translation    of  Mr.    Jeans.       Cicero   writes    from    Rome    to 
Servius  Sulpicius  Rufus,  in  Achaia.     We  abridge  : 

You  can  venture  to  speak  of  your  annoyance  in  a  letter  ;  we  cannot 
even  do  that  vk'itli  safety  ;  not  that  for  this  our  conqueror  is  to  blame — 
it  would  be  impossible  to  be  more  moderate  than  he  is — but  simply  the 
fact  of  victory,  which  in  a  civil  war  is  invariably  tyrannical.  In  one 
respect  only  we  have  had  the  advantage  ;  in  hearing,  namely,  of  the  res- 
toration of  your  colleague  Marcellus  a  little  earlier  tlian  you,  and  also, 
upon  my  honor,  in  seeing  how  that  result  was  brought  about.  For  be- 
lieve me  when  I  say  that  since  these  troubles  began — that  is,  since  might 
was  called  in  to  decide  a  national  question  of  right — this  is  the  one  dig- 
nified proceeding  that  has  taken  place.  For  Csesar  himself,  after  com- 
plaining of  the  '  acrimony  ' — this  was  the  word  he  used — of  Marcellus, 
and  speaking  in  most  complimentary  terms  of  your  fairness  and  discre- 
tion, suddenly  announced  his  determination,  which  we  scarcely  hoped 
for,  not  to  let  his  personal  relations  to  Marcellus  make  him  refuse  the 
entreaty  of  the  Senate  on  his  behalf  I  should  say  that  when  Lucius 
Piso  had  called  attention  to  the  case  of  Marcellus,  and  Caius  Marcellus 
had  gone  on  his  knees  to  Caesar,  the  Senate  went  so  far  as  to  rise  in  a 
body,  and  approach  Csesar  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty.  Well,  I  will  only 
say  that  tlus  day  seemed  to  me  so  bright  that  there  hovered,  as  it  were, 
before  my  eyes  a  vision  of  the  Republic  springing  into  new  life. 

Consequently,  when  all  who  had  been  asked  to  speak  before  me  had 
expressed  their  gratitude  to  Caesar,  with  the  exception  of  Volcatius,  who 
said  that  if  he  had  been  in  the  same  place  he  would  certainly  not  have 
done  the  like,  I  changed  my  resolution  on  being  asked  for  my  opinion  ; 
for  I  had  quite  determined,  not,  I  may  solemnly  assure  you,  from  in- 
difference, but  from  regret  at  the  loss  of  my  former  position,  to  maintain 
an  uninterrupted  silence.  This  resolution  of  mine  broke  down  utterly 
under  such  magnanimity  on  the  part  of  Caesar  and  loyal  self-sacrifice  on 
that  of  the  Senate,  and  accordingly  I  spoke  at  some  length  of  our  grati- 
tude to  Ccesar,  and  am  afraid  that  now  for  other  occasions  I  may  have 
been  thus  putting  out  of  my  own  power  that  retirement  without  dis- 
grace, the  possession  of  which  was  my  one  consolation  under  my  troubles. 
But  all  the  same,  since  I  have  avoided  the  danger  of  giving  offense  to 
one  who  might  perhaps  infer  that  I  do  not  recognize  this  as  a  Constitu- 
tion at  all  if  I  preserved  an  absolute  silence,  I  shall  repeat  the  experi- 
ment with  moderation — or  even  err  on  this  side  of  moderation, — but 
only  enough  to  gratify  at  once  his  sovereign  will  and  my  own  inclina- 
tions. For,  although  from  quite  early  years  every  form  of  study  and  of 
11* 


250  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

liberal  accomplishments,  and  above  all  pliilosopliy,  have  been  my  de- 
light, yet  day  by  day  this  passion  is  mastering  me  more — partly,  I 
suppose,  because  age  makes  us  riper  to  receive  lessons  of  wisdom,  and 
partly  because  of  the  corruption  of  the  age — so  that  now  there  is  noth- 
ing else  at  all  which  can  relieve  my  mind  from  petty  cares.  You,  I 
gather  from  your  letters,  are  hindered  by  business  in  your  literary  work, 
but  still  the  nights  will  now  be  a  considerable  help  to  you. 

The  fruit  of  the  clemency  toward  him  of  Ccesar,  Marcellus 
was  fated  never  to  enjoy,  in  actual  return  to  his  native  Italy. 
He  died  by  violence,  in  the  manner  described  by  Sulpicius 
to  Cicero,  as  follows  : 

On  the  23d  of  May  I  landed  at  the  Pi-ras'us  from  Ep-i-dau'rus,  and 
finding  my  old  colleague  Marcellus  there,  I  spent  a  day  in  the  place  to 
enjoy  his  company.  When  I  parted  from  him  the  next  day,  with  the  in- 
tention of  going  from  Athens  into  Bccotia  and  finishing  the  rest  of  my 
judicial  business,  he  was  intending,  as  he  told  me,  to  sail  round  Mal'i-a 
to  or  in  direction  of  Italj'.  Two  days  after  this  date,  I  being  then  just 
about  to  arrange  for  starting  from  Athens,  about  three  o'clock  or  so  in 
the  moining  Publms  Pos-tu'mi-us,  a  friend  of  his,  came  to  me  and 
brought  me  the  news  that  my  colleague,  Marcus  Marcellus,  had  been 
stabbed  after  dinner-time  by  one  of  his  friends,  Publius  Magius  Cilo. 
He  had  received  two  wounds,  one  in  the  stomach,  the  other  on  the  head 
just  by  the  ear,  but  still  it  was  hoped  that  he  might  possibly  recover  : 
Magius  had  subsequently  committed  suicide.  He  himself  had  been  sent 
to  me  by  Marcellus  to  bring  this  news,  and  asked  that  I  would  sum- 
mon my  own  physicians.  Having  summoned  them  I  started  at  once  for 
the  place  just  as  day  was  breaking.  I  was  only  a  short  distance  from 
the  Piroeus  when  I  was  met  by  a  slave  of  A-ci-di'nus  with  a  note,  in 
which  it  was  stated  that  a  little  before  daybreak  Marcellus  had  breathed 
his  last.  So  one  of  the  noblest  of  men  had  fallen  a  victim  to  a  most 
untimely  death  at  the  hand  of  one  of  the  vilest ;  to  one  whom  his  very 
enemies  had  spared  for  his  worth  a  friend  had  been  found  to  deal  the 
death-blow  I 

A  second  letter  of  Sulpicius,  included  in  Mr.  Jeans's  se- 
lection from  the  correspondence  of  Cicero,  is  one  of  consola- 
tion to  his  illustrious  friend  on  the  death  of  his  daughter 
Tullia.  This  is  a  famous  literary  antique.  It  admirably 
shows  what  was  the  best  that  ancient  paganism   could  offer 


Cicero.  251 

in  the  way  of  comfort  to  souls  bereaved.  Cicero's  anguish 
at  the  loss  of  his  daughter  was  poignant  in  the  extreme.  Tie 
cherished  the  plan  of  building  at  great  cost  a  temple  to  her 
memory.  There  is  no  evidence  that  the  plan  was  ever  car- 
ried out.  The  fact  that  this  father's  grief  for  his  daughter 
remains  to  the  present  day  one  of  the  most  vivid  traditions 
of  literature,  remarkably  proves  how  much  there  was  in  Cicero 
to  engage  the  interest  of  mankind.  Cffisar  alone  excepted, 
no  ancient  Roman  has  been  so  widely,  so  continuously,  and 
so  intensely  alive  since  his  death, as  has  been  Marcus  Tu'llius 
Cicero.  Here  is  a  specimen  extract  from  the  letter  of  Sul- 
picius : 

A  reflection  which  was  such  as  to  afford  me  no  light  consolation  I 
cannot  but  mention  to  you,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  be  allowed  to  con- 
tribute equally  toward  mitigating  your  grief.  As  I  was  returning  from 
Asia,  when  sailing  from  yE-gi'na  in  the  direction'of  Meg'a-ra,  I  began 
to  look  around  me  at  the  various  places  by  which  I  was  surrounded. 
Beliind  me  was  ^gina,  in  front,  Megai-a  ;  on  the  right,  the  Piraeus, 
on  the  left,  Corinth  :  all  of  these  towns,  that  in  former  days  were  so 
magniircent,  are  now  lying  prostrate  and  in  ruins  before  one's  eyes. 
'Alas  ! '  I  began  to  reflect  to  myself,  '  we  poor  feeble  mortals,  who  can 
claim  but  a  short  life  in  comparison,  complain  as  though  a  wrong  was 
done  us  if  one  of  our  number  dies  in  the  course  of  nature,  or  has  fallen 
on  the  field  of  battle  ;  and  here  in  one  spot  are  lying  stretched  out  before 
me  the  corpses  of  so  many  cities  !  Servius,  why  do  you  not  control 
yourself,  and  remember  that  that  is  man's  life  into  which  you  have  been 
born  ?  '  Believe  me,  I  found  myself  in  no  small  degree  strengthened  by 
these  reflections.  Let  me  advise  you,  if  you  agree  with  me,  to  put  the 
same  prospect  before  your  eyes  too.  How  lately  at  one  and  the  same 
time  have  many  of  our  most  illustrious  men  fallen  !  how  grave  an  en- 
croachment has  been  made  on  the  rights  of  the  sovereign  people  of 
Rome  !  every  country  in  the  world  has  been  convulsed  :  if  the  frail  life 
of  a  helpless  woman  has  gone  too,  who  being  born  to  our  common  lot 
must  have  died  in  a  few  short  years,  even  if  the  time  had  not  come  for 
her  now,  are  you  thus  utterly  stricken  down? 

Sulpicius  exerted  himself  to  write  mourning  Cicero  a  long 
and  thoughtful  letter;  but  what  our  readers  have  seen  is  a 
fair  specimen  of  the  best  comfort  that  this   earnestly  sympa- 


252  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

tliizing  pagan  friend  could  find  to  offer.  Was  not  that  a  night 
of  darkness  and  lias  not  the  sun  arisen  since? 

(Two  stanzas  in  the  Childe  Harold  of  Byron,  iv :  44,  45, 
alluding  to  the  foregoing  descriptive  and  meditative  strain 
from  the  letter  of  Sulpicius  to  Cicero,  might  here,  for  the 
sake  of  the  comparison  suggested,  be  read  with  interest.) 

Mr.  William  Melmoth  executed  a  free  and  flowing  transla- 
tion of  a  large  number  of  Cicero's  letters.  He  did  his  work 
well,  but  he  did  it  in  a  literary  style,  also  in  a  style  of  schol- 
arship, now  somewhat  out  of  fashion.  For  this  reason,  and 
for  the  reason  in  addition  that  Mr.  Jeans  is  less  paraphrastic 
than  Melmoth,  we  have  preferred  the  more  recent  translation. 
We  have  done  so,  however,  with  some  lingering  doubt 
whether  the  rhythm  of  Melmoth  does  not,  more  than  compen- 
sating for  the  less  scrupulous  scholarship,  make  his  version 
after  all  a  better  reflex  of  the  original,  than  is  the  version  of 
Mr,  Jeans,  with  its  defective  feeling  for  balance  and  harmony 
of  construction. 

Let  Mr,  Melmoth  supply  the  translation  of  Cicero's 
answer  to  the  foregoing  tender  of  sympathy  and  consola- 
tion from  Sulpicius  : 

I  join  with  yon,  my  dear  Sulpicius,  in  wishing  that  you  had  been  in 
Rome  when  this  most  severe  calamity  befell  me.  I  am  sensible  of  the 
advantage  I  should  have  received  from  your  presence,  and  I  had  almost 
said  your  equal  participation  of  my  grief,  by  having  found  myself  some- 
what more  composed  after  I  had  read  your  letter.  It  furnished  me, 
indeed,  with  arguments  extremely  proper  to  soothe  the  anguish  of  afflic- 
tion, and  evidently  flowed  from  a  heart  that  sympathized  with  the  sor- 
rows it  endeavored  to  assuage.  But  although  I  could  not  enjoy  the  ben- 
efit of  your  own  good  offices  in  person,  I  had  the  advantage,  however,  of 
your  son's,  who  gave  me  proof,  by  every  tender  assistance  that  could  be 
contributed  upon  so  melancholy  an  occasion,  how  much  he  imagined 
that  he  was  acting  agreeably  to  your  sentiments  wlien  he  thus  discovered 
the  affection  of  his  own.  More  pleasing  instances  of  his  friendship  I 
have  frequently  received,  but  never  any  that  were  more  obliging.  As  to 
those  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  yourself,  it  is  not  only  the  force  of 
your  reasonings,  and  the  very  considerable  share  you  take  in  my  atllic- 


Cicero.  253 

tions,  that  have  contributed  to  compose  my  mind  ;  it  is  the  deference, 
lil^ewise,  which  I  always  pay  to  tlie  authority  of  your  sentiments.  For, 
knowing,  as  I  perfectly  do,  the  superior  wisdom  with  which  you  are  en- 
lightened, I  should  be  ashamed  not  to  support  my  distresses  in  the  man- 
ner you  tliink  I  ought :  I  will  acknowledge,  nevertheless,  that  they 
sometimes  almost  entirely  overcome  me  ;  and  I  am  scarce  able  to  resist 
the  force  of  my  grief  when  I  reflect,  that  I  am  destitute  of  those  consola- 
tions which  attended  others,  whose  examples  I  propose  to  my  imitation. 
Thus  Quintus  Maximus  lost  a  son  of  consular  rank,  and  distinguished  by 
many  brave  and  illustrious  actions  ;  Lucius  Paulus  was  deprived  of  two 
sons  in  the  space  of  a  single  week ;  and  your  relation  Gallus,  together 
with  Marcus  Cato,  had  both  of  them  the  unhappiness  to  survive  their 
respective  sons,  who  were  endowed  with  the  highest  abilities  and  virtues. 
Yet  these  unfortunate  parents  lived  in  times  when  the  honors  they  de- 
rived from  the  republic  might,  in  some  measure,  alleviate  the  weight  of 
their  domestic  misfortunes.  But  as  for  myself,  after  having  been  stripped 
of  those  dignities  you  mention,  and  whicli  I  had  acquired  by  the  most 
laborious  exertion  of  my  abilities,  I  had  one  only  consolation  remaining, 
— and  of  that  I  am  now  bereaved  !  I  could  no  longer  divert  the  disquie- 
tude of  my  thoughts,  by  employing  myself  in  the  causes  of  my  friends  or 
the  business  of  the  State  ;  for  I  could  no  longer,  with  any  satisfaction, 
appear  either  in  the  forum  or  the  Senate.  In  short,  I  justly  considered 
myself  as  cut  oft"  from  the  benefit,  of  all  those  alleviating  occupations  in 
wbicli  fortune  and  industry  liad  qualified  me  to  engage.  But  I  con- 
sidered, too,  that  this  was  a  deprivation  which  I  suffered  in  common 
with  yourself  and  some  others  ;  and,  whilst  I  was  endeavoring  to  recon- 
cile my  mind  to  a  patient  endurance  of  those  ills,  there  was  one  to  whose 
tender  offices  I  could  have  recourse,  and  in  the  sweetness  of  whose  con- 
versation I  could  discharge  all  the  cares  and  anxiety  of  my  heart.  But 
this  last  fatal  stab  to  my  peace  has  torn  open  those  wounds  which 
seemed  in  some  measure  to  have  been  tolerably  healed:  for  I  can  now 
no  longer  lose  my  private  sorrows  in  the  prosperity  of  the  commonwealtli, 
as  I  was  wont  to  dispel  the  uneasiness  I  suff"ered  upon  the  public  account, 
in  the  happiness  I  received  at  home.  Accordingly,  I  have  equally 
banished  myself  from  my  house  and  from  the  public, — as  findmg  no  re- 
lief in  either  from  the  calamities  I  lament  in  both.  It  is  this,  therefore, 
that  hciglitens  my  desire  of  seeing  you  here  ;  as  nothing  can  aff^ord  me 
a  more  effectual  consolation  than  the  renewal  of  our  friendly  intercourse; 
a  happiness  which  I  hope,  and  am  informed  indeed,  that  I  shall  shortly 
enjoy.  Among  the  many  reasons  I  have  for  impatiently  wishing  your 
arrival,  one  is,  that  we   may  previously  concert  together  our  scheme  of 


254  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

conduct  in  tlie  present  conjuncture, — which,  however,  must  now  be  en- 
tirely accommodated  to  another's  will.  This  person  [Caesar],  it  is 
true,  is  a  man  of  great  abilities  and  generosity,  and  one,  if  I  mistake 
not,  who  is  by  no  means  my  enemy, — as  I  am  sure  he  is  extremely  your 
friend.  Nevertheless,  it  requires  much  consideration,  I  do  not  say  in 
what  manner  we  shall  act  with  respect  to  public  affairs,  but  by  what 
methods  we  may  best  obtain  his  permission  to  retire  from  them. 
Farewell. 

We  go  from  Cicero,  the  letter-writer,  to  Cicero,  the  eclectic 
philosopher.  One  letter  however  there  is,  not  yet  shown  to  our 
readers,  that  will  form  for  us  here  a  peculiarly  happy  step  of 
transition.  This  is  a  communication  of  remarkable  character 
addressed  by  Marcus  Tullius,  to  his  brother  Quintus,  Cicero. 
It  is  partly  a  letter  of  brotherly  affection,  and  partly  a  slate 
paper.  The  political  ethics  wliich  it  recommends  will  never 
be  wholly  obsolete.  Quintus  was  governor  of  a  very  rich 
province,  and,  tliough  his  loyal  and  loving  brother  says 
nothing  of  the  sort,  we  are  almost  obliged  to  suppose  that 
Quintus  was  yielding  somewhat,  through  greed,  to  the  temp- 
tations of  his  place  and  his  opportunity.  Tully  exhorts  his 
brother — as  Paul  sometimes  exhorted  the  churches — by  as- 
suming that,  in  the  case  under  treatment,  the  noble  things 
which  he  counseled  were  already  in  practice.  We  possess  a 
curious  evidence — unimpeachable,  because  proceeding  from 
Cicero's  own  pen  —  of  the  spirit  in  which  thus  this  all- 
accomplished  Italian  at  times  deliberately  chose  to  exert 
influence  on  others.  In  some  cases  he  was,  we  fear,  more 
careful  to  be  crafty  than  he  was  to  be  truthful.  To  Atticus, 
Cicero,  writing  of  a  person  from  whom  he  desired  a  favor, 
says:  "I  should  be  better  pleased  to  know  that  you  had 
written  to  tell  him  that  he  is  doing  all  I  could  wish — not  tJicd 
he  really  is  doing  so,  but  to  get  him  to  do  it."  Finesse,  certainly 
— but  is  not  ^\\c\\  finesse  rather  amiable.'' 

Understood  in  the  interpretative  light  reflected  from  the 
foregoing  disclosure  of  the  author's  motive  and  method  in 
dealing  with  men,  Cicero's    oration   for  Marcus  Marcellus, 


Cicero.  255 

with  its  lavisli  praises  of  Caesar,  exhibits  the  speaker,  as 
was  hinted  in  a  former  volume,  intent  less  to  describe  flat- 
teringly what  the  great  dictator  really  was,  than  to  set  allur- 
ingly before  him  the  ideal  of  what  he  ought  to  be. 

The  letter  to  Quintus  which  we  are  about  to  present,  we 
do  not  find  in  Mr.  Jeans's  selection.  We  use  Mr.  Collins's 
translation,  following  him  also,  without  particular  notice  to 
the  reader,  in  the  condensation  which  he  makes : 

You  v\ill  find  little  trouble  in  holding  your  subordinates  in  check,  if 
you  can  but  keep  a  check  upon  yourself.  So  long  as  you  resist  gain, 
and  pleasure,  and  all  other  temptations,  as  I  am  sure  you  do,  I  cannot 
fancy  there  will  be  any  danger  of  your  not  being  able  to  check  a  dishonest 
merchant  or  an  extortionate  collector.  For  even  the  Greeks,  when  they 
see  you  living  thus,  will  look  upon  you  as  some  hero  from  their  old  an- 
nals, or  some  supernatural  being  from  heaven,  conre  down  into  their 
province. 

I  write  thus,  not  to  urge  you  so  to  act,  but  that  you  may  congratulate 
yourself  upon  having  so  ac:ed,  now  and  heretofore.  For  it  is  a  glori- 
ous thing  for  a  man  to  have  held  a  government  for  three  years  in  Asia, 
in  such  sort  that  neither  statue,  nor  painting,  nor  work  of  art  of  any 
kind,  nor  any  temptations  of  wealth  or  beauty  (in  all  which  temptations 
your  province  abounds)  could  draw  you  from  the  strictest  integrity  and 
self-control :  that  your  official  progress  sliould  have  been  no  cause  of 
dread  to  the  inhabitants,  that  none  should  be  impoverished  by  your  re- 
quisitions, none  terrified  at  the  news  of  your  approach  ; — but  that  j'ou 
should  have  brought  with  you,  wherever  you  came,  the  most  hearty 
rejoicings,  public  and  private,  inasmuch  as  every  town  saw  in  you  a  pro- 
tector and  not  a  tyrant — every  family  received  you  as  a  guest,  not  as 
a  plunderer. 

But  in  these  points,  as  experience  has  by  this  time  taught  you,  it  is 
not  enough  for  you  to  have  these  virtues  yourself,  but  you  must  look  to 
it  carefully,  that  in  this  guardianship  of  the  province  not  you  alone,  but 
every  officer  under  you,  discharges  his  duty  to  our  subjects,  to  our  fellow- 
citizens,  and  to  the  State.  ...  If  any  of  your  subordinates  seem  grasp- 
ing for  his  own  interest,  you  may  venture  to.  bear  with  him  so  long  as  he 
merely  neglects  the  rules  by  which  he  ought  to  be  personally  bound  ; 
never  so  far  as  to  allow  him  to  abuse  for  his  own  gain  the  power  with 
which  you  have  intrusted  him  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  his  office.  P'or 
I  do  not  think  it  well,  especially  since  the  customs  of  official  life  incline 


256  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

so  much  of  late  to  laxity  and  corrupt  influence,  that  you  should  scruti- 
nize too  closely  every  abuse,  or  criticise  too  strictly  every  one  of  your 
officers,  but  rather  place  trust  in  each  in  proportion  as  you  feel  confi- 
dence in  his  integrity. 

For  those  whom  the  State  has  assigned  you  as  companions  and  assist- 
ants in  public  business,  you  are  answerable  only  within  the  limits  I  have 
just  laid  down  ;  but  for  those  whom  you  have  chosen  to  associate  with 
yourself  as  members  of  your  private  establishment  and  personal  suite,  you 
will  be  held  responsible  not  only  for  all  they  do,  but  for  all  they  say. 

Your  ears  should  be  supposed  to  hear  only  what  you  publicly  listen  to, 
not  to  be  open  to  every  secret  and  false  whisper  for  the  sake  of  private 
gain.  Your  official  seal  should  be  not  as  a  mere  common  tool,  but  as 
though  it  were  yourself;  not  the  instrument  of  other  men's  wills,  but  the 
evidence  of  your  own.  Your  officers  should  be  the  agents  of  your  clem- 
ency, not  of  their  own  caprice  ;  and  the  rods  and  axes  which  they  bear 
should  be  the  emblems  of  your  dignity,  not  merely  of  your  power.  In 
short,  the  whole  province  should  feel  that  the  persons,  the  families,  the 
reputation,  and  the  fortunes  of  all  over  whom  you  rule,  are  held  by  you 
very  precious.  Let  it  be  well  understood  that  you  will  hold  that  man  as 
much  your  enemy  who  gives  a  bribe,  if  it  comes  to  your  knowledge,  as 
the  man  who  receives  it.  But  no  one  will  offer  bribes,  if  this  be  once 
made  clear,  that  those  who  pretend  to  have  influence  of  this  kind  with 
you  have  no  power,  after  all,  to  gain  any  favor  for  others  at  your  hands. 

Let  such,  then,  be  the  foundations  of  your  dignity  :  first,  integrity 
and  self-control  on  your  own  part  ;  a  becoming  behavior  on  the  part  of 
all  about  you  ;  a  very  careful  circumspect  selection  of  your  intimates, 
whether  Greeks  or  provincials;  a  grave  and  firm  discipline  main- 
tained throughout  your  household.  For  if  such  conduct  befits  us  in  our 
private  and  every-day  relations,  it  becomes  well-nigh  godlike  in  a  gov- 
ernment of  such  extent,  in  a  state  of  morals  so  depraved,  and  in  a 
province  which  presents  so  many  temptations.  Such  a  line  of  conduct 
and  such  rules  will  alone  enable  you  to  uphold  that  severity  in  your  de- 
cisions and  decrees  which  you  have  employed  in  some  cases,  and  by 
which  we  have  incurred  (and  I  cannot  regret  it)  the  jealousy  of  certain 
interested  parties.  .  .  .  You  may  safely  use  the  utmost  strictness  in  the 
administration  of  justice,  so  long  as  it  is  not  capricious  or  partial,  but 
maintained  at  the  same  level  for  all.  Yet  it  will  be  of  little  usethatyour 
own  decisions  be  just  and  carefully  weighed,  unless  the  same  course  be 
pursued  by  all  to  whom  you  delegate  any  portion  of  your  judicial  au- 
thority. Such  firmness  and  dignity  must  be  employed  as  may  not  only 
be  above  partiality,    but  above   the  suspicion  of  it.     To  this  must  be 


Cicero.  257 

added  readiness  to  give  audience,  calmness  in  deciding,  care  in  weighing 
tlie  merits  of  the  case  and  in  satisfying  the  claims  of  the  parties. 

If  such  moderation  [as  that  recommended  ijy  Cicero]  be  popular  at 
Rome,  where  there  is  so  much  self-assertion,  such  unbridled  freedom, 
so  much  license  allowed  to  all  men; — where  there  are  so  many  courts  of 
appeal  open,  so  many  means  of  help,  where  the  people  have  so  much 
power  and  tlie  Senate  so  much  authority  ;  how  grateful  beyond  measure 
will  moderation  be  in  the  governor  of  Asia,  a  province  where  all  that 
vast  number  of  our  fellow-citizens  and  subjects,  all  those  numerous 
States  and  cities,  hang  upon  one  man's  nod  !  where  there  is  no  appeal 
to  the  tribune,  no  remedy  at  law,  no  Senate,  no  popular  assembly  ! 
Wherefore  it  should  be  the  aim  of  a  great  man,  and  one  noble  by  nature 
and  trained  by  education  and  liberal  studies,  so  to  behave  himself  in  the 
exercise  of  that  absolute  power,  as  that  they  over  whom  he  presides 
should  never  have  cause  to  wish  for  any  authority  other  than  his. 

Readers,  after  the  perusal  of  that  letter  from  Marcus  to 
Quintus,  will  naturally,  in  a  treatise  on  ethics  from  the  same 
hand,  expect  a  very  high  tone  of  morality.  In  this  expecta- 
tion, they  will  not  be  disappointed  when  they  study  Cicero's 
De  Officiis.  Disappointed,  however,  they  will  be,  if  they 
carry  their  expectation  further,  and  look  to  find  in  this 
ethical  treatise  any  such  firmness  and  consistency  of  moral 
standard  and  tone,  as  they  have  been  accustomed  to  recog- 
nize in  the  New  Testainent.  The  De  Officiis  is  almost  as 
remarkable  for  its  points  of  moral  failure,  as  it  is  for  its  points 
of  moral  achievement.  You  wonder  that  one  who  came  so 
near  the  ideal  of  perfection  in  character  and  conduct,  should 
nevertheless  at  last  have  missed  that  ideal.  The  remarkable- 
ness  of  Cicero's  shortcoming  may  thus  be  said  to  lie  not  in 
the  fact  that  it  was  so  great,  but  in  the  fact  that  it  was  so 
small.  A  comparative  estimate  of  Cicero's  De  Officiis  and 
of  his  philosophical  writings  in  general,  presented  by  Luther, 
will  be  read  with  interest.  Out  of  this  great  man's  teeming 
"  table-talk  "  so-called,  happily  in  such  large  measure  pre- 
served to  us,  we  take  the  following  extract : 

"  Cicero  is  greatly  superior  to  Aristotle  in  philosophy  and 
in  teaching.     The  Ofircia  of  Cicero  are  greatly  superior  to 


258  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

the  Ethica  of  Aristotle  ;  and  although  Cicero  was  involved 
in  the  cares  of  government  and  had  much  on  his  shoulders, 
he  greatly  excels  Aristotle,  who  was  a  lazy  ass,  and  cared  for 
nothing  but  money  and  possessions,  and  comfortable,  easy 
days.  Cicero  handled  the  greatest  and  best  questions  in  his 
philosophy,  such  as:  Is  there  a  God?  What  is  God?  Does 
he  give  heed  to  the  actions  of  men  ?  Is  the  soul  immortal  ? 
etc.  Aristotle  is  a  good  and  skillful  dialectician,  who  has 
observed  the  right  and  orderly  method  in  teaching,  but  the 
kernel  of  matters  he  has  not  touched.  Let  those  who  wish 
to  see  a  true  philosophy  read  Cicero.  Cicero  was  a  wise  and 
industrious  man,  and  he  suffered  much  and  accomplished 
much.  I  hope  that  our  Lord  God  will  be  generous  to  him 
and  to  the  like  of  him.  Of  this  we  are  not  entitled  to  speak 
with  certainty.  Although  the  revealed  word  must  abide : 
'  He  who  believeth,  and  is  baptized,  shall  be  saved  '  (Mark 
xvi,  16),  yet  it  is  possible  that  God  may  dispense  with  it  in 
the  case  of  the  heathen.  There  will  be  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth,  much  larger  than  the  present;  and  he  can  give 
to  every  one  according  to  his  good  pleasure." 

It  is  pathetic  to  feel,  as  we  are  compelled  to  do,  how  little 
worthy  to  have  elicited  from  his  father  a  series  of  letters  like 
those  which  make  up  the  De  Officiis,  was  that  son  Marcus 
to  whom  Cicero  addressed  this  great  work  of  his  pen.  Mar- 
cus seems  to  have  been  a  young  fellow  on  whom  whatever 
advantages  wealth  and  position  and  opportunity  and  fatherly 
affection  could  procure  for  their  object,  were  lavished  to  a 
great  extent  in  vain.  He  perhaps  rallied  permanently  from 
the  shameful  dissipation  into  which  he  lapsed  while  a  stu- 
dent at  Athens;  but,  though  he  survived  his  father,  he  in  no 
way  continued  his  father's  fame. 

Cicero  was  an  eminently  practical  man,  a  man  of  affairs, 
a  man  of  real  life.  The  practical  interest  accordingly  with 
him  always  dominated  the  speculative.  The  De  Officiis  is  by 
no  means  conceived  as  an  exhaustive  philosophical  treatise 


Cicero.  259 

on  the  subject  of  ethics.  It  is  rather  a  manual  of  maxims, 
reasoned  and  elucidated  maxims,  adapted  to  guide  the  con- 
duct of  a  young  man  seeking  to  be  a  good  citizen  in  the  Ro- 
man state  and  a  candidate  there  for  political  preferment. 

The  work  is  divided  into  three  books.  The  first  book  treats 
the  Right,  the  second,  the  Expedient,  the  third,  tlie  Relation 
between  the  Right  and  the  Expedient.  This  is  a  seemingly 
exhaustive,  an  ideal,  division  of  the  subject;  but  the  actual 
analysis  of  the  matter  introduced  is  far  from  being  severe. 
Topics  are  entertained  that  hardly  belong  at  all  in  the  dis- 
cussion, and  topics  that  certainly  do  not  belong  in  the  places 
in  which  they  are  found.  For  example,  Cicero  enlarges, 
with  much  detail  of  suggestion,  and  with  historical  instance, 
on  the  kind  of  house  a  man  should  live  in.  This — where, 
would  you  guess.'  Well,  not  under  the  head  of  the  Expe- 
dient— but  under  the  head  of  the  Right.  Of  course,  a  man's 
choice  of  habitation  might  be  made  a  serious  ethical  point. 
But  the  point  is  not  ethical  at  all,  as  Cicero  treats  it — that  is, 
not  ethical  in  the  sense  in  which  we  moderns  use  the  word 
ethical.  Cicero,  however,  has  made  "becomingness  "  a  cri- 
terion of  duty.  And  it  is  under  this  idea  of  "  becoming- 
ness," that  the  question  of  a  proper  house  to  live  in  is  ad- 
mitted to  place  in  the  discussion  of  what  is  "right."  You 
expand  and,  in  so  far,  you  degrade  your  conception  of  ethics, 
when  you  include  the  matter  of  habitation,  considered  as 
fitting  or  not  to  your  own  dignity,  within  the  number  of 
topics  proper  to  be  embraced  in  ethical  discussion. 

The  main  interest  of  the  De  Oftlciis  centers  in  the  third 
book,  the  book  in  which  the  author  treats  of  apparent  con- 
flicts between  the  Expedient  and  the  Riglit.  Let  us  go  to 
that  book;  but  let  us,  while  going,  cull  here  and  there  an  in- 
teresting thing  on  the  way.  , 

"The  first  demand  of  justice,"  says  Cicero,  "is  that  no 
one  do  harm  to  another,  unless  provoked  i)y  injury."  We  itali- 
cize the  exceptive  clause — the  clause  will  occur  a  second  time 


2  6o  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

toward  the  end  of  the  treatise — as  constituting  a  point  of 
contrast  between  the  De  Officiis  and  the  New  Testament. 

Julius  Caesar  (dead  at  the  date  of  this  composition)  is 
more  than  once  made  by  Cicero  to  do  duty  as  an  example 
by  way  of  warning.  Generosity,  as  well  as  justice,  is,  ac- 
cording to  Cicero,  a  demand  of  morality.  But  the  lavish 
munificence  of  Caesar  was  not  to  be  accounted  generosity. 
Caesar  had  taken  wrongfully  what  he  bestowed  magnificently; 
and  "  nothing,"  insists  Cicero,  "is  generous  that  is  not  at 
the  same  time  just." 

Cicero  himself  was  rich,  but  hardly  rich  with  such  a  spirit 
as  to  be  condemned  by  his  own  sentiment,  expressed  in  the 
following  words  : 

Nothing  shows  so  narrow  and  small  a  mind  as  the  love  of  riches  ; 
nothing  is  more  honorable  and  magnificent  than  to  despise  money,  if 
you  have  it  not — if  you  have  it,  to  expend  it  for  purposes  of  beneficence 
and  generosity. 

"When,  however,  Cicero  immediately  went  on,  "The  greed  of 
fame  also  must  be  shunned" — perhaps  he  was,  whether  he 
knew  it  or  not,  fairly  hit  by  a  boomerang  return  upon  himself 
of  his  own  weapon. 

The  great  Fabius  Cunctator  of  Livy  supplies  to  our  author 
his  example  of  a  patriot  preferring  the  people's  welfare  to 
his  own  present  praise  from  the  people.  The  allusion  be- 
comes to  Cicero  an  occasion  of  saving  for  us  from  oblivion  a 
few  lines  of  an  early  poet — Ennius,  hitherto  known  only  by 
name  in  these  books  : 

One  man  by  slow  delays  restored  our  fortunes, 
Preferring  not  the  people's  praise  to  safety, 
And  thus  his  after-glory  shines  the  more. 

One  is  rather  confounded  to  find  Cicero — after  having,  on 
the  subject  of  jests,  laid  down  the  distinction  between  the 
coarse  and  the  refined  sorts — naming  together,  Plautus,  the 


Cicero.  261 

Old  Comedy  of  Athens  (Aristophanes),  and  Plato,  as  afford- 
ing examples  of  the  refined. 

"  One  person,"  Cicero  teaches,  "  ought,  while  another 
person,  under  the  same  circumstances,  ought  not,  to  com- 
mit suicide."  Elsewhere  in  his  writings,  he  makes  suicide 
wrong. 

"  Becomingness  "  is,  in  Cicero's  treatment,  a  very  elastic 
category  in  etliics.  Under  it,  he  finds  opportunity  to  give 
his  son  Marcus  all  sorts  of  excellent  advice.  "  It  is  in  bad 
taste  to  talk  about  one's  self,"  he  says;  as  Marcus,  if  he  was 
at  all  an  observing  youth,  had  no  doubt  again  and  again  had 
occasion  to  reflect,  when  listening  to  his  distinguished  fa- 
ther's self-exploiting  discourse,  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

Is  not  this  that  follows  almost  like  the  apostle  Paul  giving 
instruction  to  the  Corinthian  Christians  about  the  use  of  the 
various  supernatural  "  gifts  "  .'^ 

It  is  better  to  speak  fluently,  if  wisely,  than  to  think,  no  matter  with 
what  acuteness  of  comprehension,  if  the  power  of  expression  be  wanting  ; 
for  thought  begins  and  ends  in  itself,  while  fluent  speech  extends  its 
benefit  to  those  with  whom  we  are  united  in  fellowship. 

Cicero,  as  from  the  foregoing  might  be  inferred,  insists 
strongly  on  "altruism  " — in  the  form  of  making  self-indul- 
gence in  study  and  culture  severely  subordinate  to  activities, 
that  may  tend  to  the  good  of  one's  fellow-creatures. 

The  second  book  of  the  De  Ofificiis,  Cicero  opens  with  a 
statement  of  his  motive  and  design  in  discussing  philosoiDhy, 
We  give  an  interesting  extract : 

Although,  indeed,  my  books  have  roused  not  a  few  to  the  desire  not 
only  of  reading,  but  of  writing,  still  I  sometimes  fear  that  the  mere  name 
of  philosophy  may  be  offensive  to  certain  worthy  men,  and  that  they 
may  marvel  that  I  spend  so  much  labor  and  time  upon  it.  In  truth,  so 
long  as  the  State  was  administered  by  men  of  its  own  choice,  I  bestowed 
upon  it  all  my  care  and  thought.  '  But  when  all  things  were  held  under 
the  absolute  sway  of  one  man,  and  there  was  no  longer  room  for  advice 
or  influence,  while  at  the  same  time  I  had  lost  my  associates  in  the 


262  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

guardianship  of  the  State,  men  of  the  highest  eminence,  I  did  not  aban- 
don myself  to  melancholy,  which  would  have  consumed  me  had  I  not 
resisted  it,  nor  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  to  sensual  pleasures  unworthy  of 
a  philosopher.  And  oh  that  the  State  had  continued  in  the  condition  in 
which  it  recommenced  its  life  [when  Caesar  fell],  and  had  not  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  men  desirous  not  so  much  of  reforming  as  of  revolution- 
izing its  constitution!  In  that  case,  in  the  first  place,  as  I  used  to  do 
when  the  State  stood  on  a  firm  basis,  I  should  expend  more  labor  in 
pleading  than  in  writing ;  and  in  the  next  place,  I  should  commit  to 
writing  not  the  subjects  now  in  hand,  but  my  arguments  before  the 
courts,  as  I  have  often  done.  But  when  the  State,  on  which  all  my 
care,  thought,  labor,  used  to  be  expended,  had  utterly  ceased  to  be,  my 
forensic  and  senatorial  literature  was  of  course  silenced.  Yet  since  my 
mind  could  not  be  unemployed,  having  been  conversant  with  these  stud- 
ies from  my  early  days,  I  thought  that  my  chagrin  could  be  most  honor- 
ably laid  aside  if  I  betook  myself  to  philosophy,  to  which  I  devoted  a 
large  part  of  my  youth  as  a  learner,  while  after  I  began  to  hold  impor- 
tant offices  and  gave  myself  wholly  to  the  service  of  the  State,  philosophy 
had  as  much  of  my  time  as  was  not  taken  up  by  the  claims  of  my  friends 
and  the  public.  Yet  this  time  was  all  consumed  in  reading  ;  I  had  no 
leisure  for  writing. 

I  seem,  then,  in  the  severest  calamities  to  have  attained  at  least  this 
good  fortune,  that  I  am  able  to  commit  to  writing  subjects  not  suffi- 
ciently familiar  to  my  fellow-countrymen,  and  yet  pre-eminently  worthy 
of  their  cognizance.  For  what,  in  the  name  of  the  gods,  is  more  desir- 
able than  wisdom  ?  What  more  to  be  prized?  What  better?  What 
more  worthy  of  man  ?  It  is  the  seekers  of  this,  then,  who  are  called 
philosophers  ;  nor  is  philosophy,  if  you  undertake  to  translate  it,  any- 
thing else  than  the  love  of  wisdom. 

That  is  a  wholesome  inculcation,  in  which  Cicero,  discuss- 
ing the  Expedient,  teaches  his  son  that,  even  for  his  own  sake, 
he  ought  to  seek  to  be  loved.  He  draws  warning  example 
again,  anonymously  this  time,  from  Ccesar — and  Ennius  is 
quoted  once  more : 

But  of  all  things  nothing  tends  so  much  to  the  guarding  and  keeping 
of  resources  as  to  be  the  object  of  affection  ;  nor  is  any  thing  more 
foreign  to  that  end  than  to  be  the  object  of  fear.  Ennius  says  most 
fittingly : 

"  Hate  follows  fear  ;  and  plotted  ruin,  hate." 


Cicero.  263 

It  has  been  lately  demonstrated,  if  it  was  before  unknown,  tliat  no  re- 
sources can  resist  the  haired  of  a  numerous  body.  It  is  not  merely  the 
destruction  of  this  tyrant,  .  .  .  that  shows  how  far  the  hatred  of  men 
may  prove  fatal ;  but  similar  deaths  of  other  tyrants,  hardly  one  of  whom 
has  escaped  a  like  fate,  teach  tliis  lesson. 

Cicero  enjoins  the  duty  of  beneficence,  in  the  personal 
performance  of  kind  offices,  and  in  the  bestowment  of 
money.  As  between  the  two,  he  gives  the  preference  to  the 
former : 

The  latter  is  more  e.asy,  especially  for  one  who  is  rich  ;  but  the  former 
is  more  noble,  more  magnificent,  and  more  worthy  of  a  strong  and  emi- 
nent man. 

Cicero  too  makes  his  acknowledgment  of  debt  to  the 
Greek.  He  speaks  here  of  Greek  Pa-nre'tius,  "whom,"  says 
he,  "  in  my  present  treatise,  I  have  followed,  not  translated." 

If,  in  what  we  now  proceed  to  show,  there  seems  some 
taint  of  indulgence  granted  to  mercenary  calculation  of  gain, 
let  it  be  remembered  that  Cicero  at  this  moinent  was  pro- 
fessedly dealing  with  the  idea,  not  of  the  Right,  but  of  the 
Expedient.     Again  a  line  of  Ennius  is  rescued  from  oblivion  : 

We  ought  to  be  by  no  means  nigrgardly,  but  to  be  judicious  and  care- 
ful in  selecting  suitable  subjects  for  our  bounty.  For  Ennius  says  very 
fittingly : 

"  Good  done  amiss  I  count  as  evil  done." 

But  what  is  given  to  a  good  and  grateful  man  yields  us  in  return  a 
revenue  both  from  him  and  from  others.  For  when  one  does  not  give 
at  hap-hazard,  generosity  confers  the  highest  pleasure,  and  most  per- 
sons bestow  upon  it  the  greater  applause,  because  the  kindheartedness 
of  any  one  who  holds  a  conspicuous  station  is  the  common  refuge  for  all. 
Care  must  be  taken,  therefore,  that  we  confer  on  as  many  as  possible 
benefits  of  such  a  nature  that  their  memory  may  be  transmitted  to  chil- 
dren and  posterity,  so  that  they  too  cannot  be  ungrateful. 

Cicero  constantly  enlivens  and  enlightens  his  ethical  page 
with  instance  drawn  by  the  writer  from  great  resources  of 
knowledge  in  possession.     Here  is  an  examjjle  of  this  method 


264  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

of  his.  He  is  pointing  out  how  on  the  whole  it  is  for  you 
yourself  more  profitable  to  exercise  kindness  toward  really 
good  men  than  toward  men  simply  well  placed  in  life: 

I  think  a  kindness  better  invested  with  good  men  than  witli  men  of 
fortune.  In  fine,  we  should  endeavor  to  meet  the  claims  of  those  of 
every  class  ;  but  if  it  come  to  a  competition  between  rival  claimants  for 
our  service,  Themistocles  may  be  well  quoted  as  an  authority,  who,  when 
asked  whether  he  would  marry  his  daughter  to  a  good  poor  man,  or  to  a 
rich  man  of  less  respectable  character,  replied,  "  I,  indeed,  prefer  the 
man  who  lacks  money  to  the  money  that  lacks  a  man." 

Cicero  holds  good  sound  doctrine  on  financial  questions. 
Repudiation  of  debt,  under  whatever  form  proposed,  and 
with  whatever  pretext,  excites  his  abhorrence.  He  has  his 
thrust  at  Julius  Coesar  again  : 

Nothing  holds  the  State  more  firmly  together  than  good  faith,  which 
cannot  possibly  exist  unless  the  payment  of  debts  is  obligatory.  .  .  .  He, 
indeed,  of  late  conqueror,  but  at  that  time  conquered  [that  is,  when 
Catiline's  conspiracy  was  suppressed — Cicero  assumes  Csesar,  deeply  in 
debt  at  the  moment,  to  have  taken  part  in  the  plot],  carried  out  what  he 
had  then  planned  after  he  had  ceased  to  have  any  personal  interest  in  it. 
So  great  was  his  appetite  for  evil-doing,  that  the  very  doing  of  evil  gave 
him  delight,  even  when  there  was  no  special  reason  for  it.  From  this 
kind  of  generosity,  then, — the  giving  to  some  what  is  taken  from  others, — 
those  who  mean  to  be  guardians  of  the  State  will  refrain,  and  will  espe- 
cially bestow  their  efforts,  that  through  the  equity  of  the  laws  and  of 
their  administration  every  man  may  have  his  own  property  made  secure, 
and  that  neither  the  poorer  may  be  defrauded  on  account  of  their  lowly 
condition,  nor  any  odium  may  stand  in  tlie  way  of  the  rich  in  holding  or 
recovering  what  belongs  to  them. 

The  third  book  of  the  De  Officiis  commences  with  another 
interesting  allusion  on  Cicero's  part  to  himself,  illuminated 
with  one  of  those  historic  anecdotes  which,  throughout  this 
writer's  philosophical  works,  add  such  charm  to  his  literary 
style  : 

My  son  Marcus : — Cato,  who  was  nearly  of  the  same  age  with  Publius 
Scipio,  the  first  of  the   family  that  bore   the  name  of  Africanus,  repre- 


Cicero. 


265 


sents  him  as  in  the  liabit  of  saying  that  he  was  never  less  at  leisure  than 
when  he  was  at  leisure,  or  less  alone  than  when  he  was  alone, — a  truly 
magnificent  utterance  and  worthy  of  a  great  and  wise  man, — indicating 
that  in  leisure  he  was  wont  to  think  of  business  and  in  solitude  to  com- 
mune with  himself,  so  that  he  was  never  idle,  and  had  no  need  between- 
while  of  another  person's  con- 
versation. Thus  the  two  things, 
leisure  and  solitude,  which  with 
others  occasion  languor,  quick- 
ened his  energies.  I  could  wish 
that  I  were  able  to  say  the 
same  ;  but  if  I  cannot  by  imi- 
tation attain  such  transcendent 
excellence  of  temperament,  I 
at  any  rate  in  my  inclination 
make  as  near  an  approach  to 
it  as  I  can  ;  for,  debarred  from 
political  and  forensic  employ- 
ments by  sacrilegious  arms  and 
violence,  I  am  abandoning  my- 
self to  leisure,  and  therefore, 
leaving  the  city  and  wandering 
from  one  place  in  the  country 
to  another,  I  am  often  alone. 
But  neither  is  this  leisure  of  | 
mine  to  be  compared  with  the 
leisure  of  Africanus,  nor  this 
solitude  with  his.  He,  indeed, 
reposing  from  the  most  honor- 
able public  trusts,  upon  certain 
occasions  snatched  leisure  for  himself,  and  from  the  company  and  con- 
course of  men  betweenwhile  betook  himself  to  solitude  as  to  a  harbor. 
But  my  leisure  proceeds  from  lack  of  employment, not  fromdesire  forrepose. 
...  I  who  have  not  such  strength  of  mind  that  I  can  abstract  myself 
from  the  weariness  of  solitude  by  silent  meditation,  am  directing  all  my 
study  and  care  to  this  labor  of  writing,  and  thus  in  the  short  time  that 
has  elapsed  since  the  overthrow  of  the  State,  I  have  written  more  than  in 
many  years  while  it  stood. 


SCIPIO    AFRIC.\NUS. 


The  third  book,  as  has  been  said,  is  occupied  with  the  re- 
lation  of  the  Right  to  the  Expedient.     Cicero,  with  repeti- 
12 


266  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

tion  and  with  emphasis,  insists  that  there  is  never  any  conflict 
between  these  two — that  always  what  is  right  is  expedient, 
and  that  never  is  any  thing  expedient  which  is  not  right. 
But  he  draws  many  distinctions  and  admits  many  qualifica- 
tions, A  thing  generally  wrong  may,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, be  right.  He  instances  Brutus's  act  in  stabbing 
Cassar,  as  an  illustration  in  point : 

What  greater  crime  can  there  be  than  to  kill  not  only  a  man,  but  an 
intimate  friend?  Has  one,  then,  involved  himself  in  guilt  by  killing  a 
tyrant,  however  intimate  with  him?  This  is  not  the  opinion  of  the  Ro- 
man people,  who  of  all  deeds  worthy  of  renown  regard  this  as  the  most 
noble.  Has  expediency,  then,  got  the  advantage  over  the  right?  Nay, 
but  expediency  has  followed  in  the  direction  of  the  right. 

It  is  the  Stoic  philosophy  that  Cicero  mainly  follows  in  the 
De  Officiis,  but,  as  disciple  also  of  Plato,  he  claitns  much 
latitude  of  view  and  discussion.  Here  is  a  noble  passage 
that  will  recall  Paul's  ethics,  and  even  Paul's  rhetoric  : 

For  a  man  to  take  anything  wrongfully  from  another,  and  to  increase  his 
own  means  of  comfort  by  his  fellow-man's  discomfort,  is  more  contrary  to 
nature  than  death,  than  poverty,  than  pain,  than  anything  else  that  can 
happen  to  one's  body  or  his  external  condition.  In  the  first  place,  it 
destroys  human  intercourse  and  society  ;  for  if  we  are  so  disposed  that 
every  one  for  his  own  gain  is  ready  to  rob  or  outrage  another,  that 
fellowship  of  the  human  race  which  is  in  the  closest  accordance  with 
nature  must  of  necessity  be  broken  in  sunder.  As  if  each  member 
of  the  body  were  so  affected  as  to  suppose  itself  capable  of  getting 
strength  by  appropriating  the  strength  of  the  adjacent  member,  the 
whole  body  must  needs  be  enfeebled  and  destroyed,  so  if  each  of  us 
seizes  for  himself  the  goods  of  otliers,  and  takes  what  he  can  from  every 
one  for  his  own  emolument,  the  society  and  intercourse  of  men  must 
necessarily  be  subverted. 

To  the  same  purport  again  : 

This,  then,  above  all,  ought  to  be  regarded  by  every  one  as  an  estab- 
lished principle,  that  the  interest  of  each  individual  and  that  of  the  en- 
tire body  of  citizens  are  identical,  which  interest  if  any  one  appropriate 
to  himself  alone,  he  does  it  to  the  sundering  of  all  human  intercourse. 


Cicej-0.  267 

.  .  .  Those,  too,  who  say  that  account  is  to  be  taken  of  citizens,  but  not 
of  foreigners,  destroy  the  common  sodality  of  the  human  race,  wliich 
abrogated,  beneficence,  liberality,  kindness,  justice,  are  removed  from 
their  very  foundations. 

The  following  fine  anecdote  illustrates  Cicero's  open- 
minded  hospitality  toward  what  he  found  good  in  other 
nations  than  the  Roman  : 

The-mis'to-cles,  after  the  victory  in  the  Persian  war,  said  in  a  popular 
assembly,  that  he  had  a  plan  conducive  to  the  public  good,  but  that  it 
was  not  desirable  that  it  should  be  generally  known.  He  asked  that 
the  people  should  name  some  one  with  whom  he  might  confer.  Aris- 
ti'des  was  named.  Themistocles  said  to  him  that  the  fleet  of  the  Lace- 
dremonians,  which  was  drawn  ashore  at  Gy-the'um,  could  be  burned  clan- 
destinely, and  if  that  were  done,  the  power  of  the  Lacedaemonians  would 
be  inevitably  broken.  Aristides,  having  heard  this,  returned  to  the  as- 
sembly amidst  the  anxious  expectation  of  all,  and  said  that  the  measure 
proposed  by  Themistocles  was  very  advantageous,  but  utterly  devoid  of 
right.  Thereupon  the  Athenians  concluded  that  what  was  not  right 
was  not  expedient,  and  they  repudiated  the  entire  plan  which  they  had 
not  heard,  on  the  authority  of  Aristides. 

Several  cases  narrated  or  supposed  by  Cicero,  and  then 
considered  by  him  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other — cases 
of  apparent  conflict  between  the  Right  and  the  Expedient — 
give  rise  to  discusssion  at  his  hands  which  strikingly  shows 
to  what  height  of  moral  standard  the  conscience  of  man, 
unassisted  by  Divine  revelation,  could  attain.  The  now  so 
much  vaunted  ethics  of  Buddhism  suffer  cruelly  in  contrast 
with  Cicero's  De  Ofificiis.  Here  is  a  case  that  in  its  essence 
is  as  much  modern  as  it  is  ancient : 

There  often  occur  cases  of  such  a  nature  that  expediency  seems  in 
conflict  with  the  right,  so  that  it  must  be  ascertained  by  close  examina- 
tion whether  it  is  really  thus  in  conflict,  or  whether  it  can  be  brought  into 
harmony  with  the  right.  Of  this  class  are  questions  like  the  following : 
If,  for  example,  a  good  man  has  brought  from  Alexandria  to  Rhodes  a 
large  cargo  of  corn,  when  there  is  a  great  scarcity  and  dearth  at  Rliodes 
and  corn  is  at  the  highest  price, — in   case   this   man  knows  that    a  con- 


268  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

siderable  number  of  merchants  have  set  sail  from  Alexandria,  and  on  his 
passage  he  has  seen  ships  laden  with  corn  bound  for  Rhodes,  shall  he 
give  this  information  to  the  Rhodians,  or  shall  he  keep  silence  and  sell 
his  cargo  for  the  most  that  it  will  bring?  We  are  imagining  the  case  of 
a  wise  and  good  man.  We  want  to  know  about  the  thought  and  feeling 
of  such  a  man  as  would  not  leave  the  Rhodians  uninformed  if  he  thinks 
it  wrong,  but  who  doubts  whether  it  is  wrong  or  not.  In  cases  of  this 
kind  Diogenes  of  Babylon,  an  eminent  Stoic  of  high  authority,  is  wont 
to  express  one  opinion,  Antipater  his  pupil,  a  man  of  superior  acuteness, 
another.  According  to  Antipater,  all  things  ought  to  be  laid  open,  so  that 
the  buyer  may  be  left  in  ignorance  of  nothing  at  all  that  the  seller  knows. 
According  to  Diogenes,  the  seller  is  bound  to  disclose  defects  in  his 
goods,  so  far  as  the  law  of  the  land  requires,  to  transact  the  rest  of  the 
business  without  fraud,  and  then,  since  he  is  the  seller,  to  sell  for  as 
much  as  he  can  get.  "I  have  brought  my  cargo  ;  I  have  offered  it  for 
sale  ;  I  am  selling  my  corn  for  no  more  than  others  ask,  perhaps  even 
for  less  than  they  would  ask,  since  my  arrival  has  increased  the  supply. 
Whom  do  I  wrong  ?  "  On  the  other  side  comes  the  reasoning  of  Antip- 
ater :  "What  say  you?  While  you  ought  to  consult  the  welfare  of 
mankind  and  to  render  service  to  human  society,  and  by  the  very  con- 
dition of  your  being  have  such  innate  natural  principles  which  you  are 
bound  to  obey  and  follow,  that  the  common  good  should  be  your  good, 
and  reciprocally  yours  the  common  good,  will  you  conceal  from  men 
what  comfort  and  plenty  are  nigh  at  hand  for  them?"  Diogenes,  pei-- 
haps,  will  reply  as  follows  :  "It  is  one  thing  to  conceal,  another  not  to 
tell.  Nor  am  I  now  concealing  any  thing  from  you,  by  not  telling  you 
what  is  the  nature  of  the  gods,  or  what  is  the  supreme  good, — things 
which  it  would  profit  you  much  more  to  know  than  to  know  the  cheap- 
ness of  wheat.  But  am  I  under  the  necessity  of  telling  you  all  that  it 
would  do  you  good  to  hear?  "  "  Yes,  indeed,  you  are  under  that  neces- 
sity, if  you  bear  it  in  mind  that  nature  establishes  a  community  of  inter- 
est among  men."  "  I  do  bear  this  in  mind.  But  is  this  community  of  in- 
terest such  that  one  can  have  nothing  of  his  own?  If  it  be  so,  every 
thing  ought,  indeed,  to  be  given,  not  sold." 

You  see  that  in  this  whole  discussion  it  is  not  said,  "Although  this 
be  wrong,  yet,  because  it  is  expedient  I  will  do  it ; "  but  that  it  is  ex- 
pedient without  being  morally  wrong,  and,  on  the  other  side,  that  be- 
cause it  is  wrong  it  ought  not  to  be  done. 

Cicero  has  only  tantalized  us  thus  far,  with  things  almost 
equally   well    said   on    this  side    and   on   that,  of  the  ethical 


Cicero.  269 

question  involved.     He  now,  not  as  yet  resolving  our  doubt, 
gives  us  another  hypothetical  case: 

A  good  man  sells  a  house  on  account  of  same  defects,  of  which  he 
himself  is  aware  and  others  ignorant.  Perhaps  it  is  unhealthy,  and  is 
supposed  to  be  healthy, — it  is  not  generally  known  that  snakes  make 
their  appearance  in  all  the  bedrooms, — it  is  built  of  bad  materials,  and 
is  in  a  ruinous  condition  ;  but  nobody  knows  this  except  the  owner.  I 
ask,  if  the  seller  should  have  failed  to  tell  these  things  to  the  buyer, 
and  should  thus  have  sold  his  house  for  a  higher  price  than  he  could 
reasonably  have  expected,  whether  he  would  have  acted  unjustly  or 
unfairly?  "Yes,  he  would,"  says  Antipater ;  "for  what  is  meant  by 
not  putting  into  the  right  way  one  who  has  lost  his  way  (which  at 
Athens  exposed  a  man  to  public  execration),  if  it  does  not  include  the 
case  in  which  a  buyer  is  permitted  to  rush  blindly  on,  and  through  his 
mistake  to  fall  into  a  heavy  loss  by  fraudulent  means  ?  It  is  even  worse 
than  not  showing  the  right  way  ;  it  is  knowingly  leading  another  into 
the  wrong  way."  Diogenes,  on  the  other  hand,  says  :  "  Did  he  who  did 
not  even  advise  you  to  buy,  force  you  to  buy?  He  advertised  for  sale 
what  he  did  not  like  ;  you  bought  what  you  did  like.  Certainly,  if  those 
who  advertise  a  good  and  well-built  house  are  not  regarded  as  swindlers, 
even  though  it  is  neither  good  nor  properly  built,  much  less  should  those 
be  so  regarded  who  have  said  nothing  in  praise  of  their  house.  For  in  a 
case  in  which  the  buyer  can  exercise  his  own  judgment,  what  fraud  can 
there  be  on  the  part  of  the  seller  ?  And  if  all  that  is  said  is  not  to  be 
guaranteed,  do  you  think  that  what  is  not  said  ought  to  be  guaranteed  ? 
What  could  be  more  foolish  than  for  the  seller  to  tell  the  defects  of  the 
article  that  he  is  selling?  Nay,  what  so  absurd  as  for  an  auctioneer,  by 
the  owner's  direction,  to  proclaim,  '  I  am  selling  an  unhealthy  house?  '  " 
Thus,  then,  in  certain  doubtful  cases  the  right  is  defended  on  the  one 
side  ;  on  the  other,  expediency  is  urged  on  the  ground  that  it  is  not  only 
right  to  do  what  seems  expedient,  but  even  wrong  not  to  do  it.  This  is 
the  discrepancy  which  seems  often  to  exist  between  the  expedient  and 
the  right. 

Our  suspense  at  last  is  relieved.     Tully  says : 

But  I  must  state  my  decision  in  these  cases  ;  for  I  introduced  them, 
not  to  raise  the  inquiry  concerning  them,  but  to  give  their  solution.  It 
seems  to  me,  then,  that  neither  that  Rhodian  corn-merchant  nor  this 
seller  of  the  house  ought  to  have  practiced  concealment  with  the  buyers. 
In  truth,  reticence  with  regard  to  any  matter  whatever  does  not  consti- 


270  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

tute  concealment ;  but  concealment  consists  in  willingly  hiding  from 
others  for  your  own  advantage  something  that  you  know.  Who  does 
not  see  what  sort  of  an  act  such  concealment  is,  and  what  sort  of  a  man 
he  must  be  who  practices  it  ?  Certainly  this  is  not  the  conduct  of  an 
open,  frank,  honest,  good  man,  but  rather  of  a  wily,  dark,  crafty,  deceit- 
ful, ill-meaning,  cunning  man,  an  old  rogue,  a  swindler.  Is  it  not 
inexpedient  to  become  liable  to  these  so  numerous  and  to  many  more 
bad  names  ? 

The  solution  as  stated  by  Cicero  is  not  forcibly  clear. 
His  idea  seems  to  be  :  '  Concealment,  in  a  matter  of  buying 
and  selling,  is  wrong;  but  what  is  concealment.?  Mere 
not  telling  is  not  to  be,  in  all  cases  whatever,  reckoned  con- 
cealment. The  condemnable  concealment  is  practiced  when 
what  you  know  is,  for  your  own  advantage,  purposely  by  you 
kept  back  from  another,  to  his  disadvantage.'  Surely  no  mod- 
ern casuist,  Chistian  though  he  be,  would  go  beyond  that  to 
teach  a  tenser  doctrine  of  moral  obligation.  How  many 
Christian  business  men  are  there  in  America  whose  record 
of  transactions  would  escape  unscathed  under  the  application 
to  them  of  Ciceronian  ethics  .'' 

Cicero  has  an  a  fortiori  argument  to  append.  He  appends  it 
— perhaps  for  the  sake  of  the  illustrative  instance  to  be  given  : 

But  if  those  who  keep  silence  deserve  censure,  what  is  to  be  thought 
of  those  who  employ  absolute  falsehood  ?  Caius  Canius,  a  Roman 
knight,  a  man  not  without  wit  and  of  respectable  literary  culture,  having 
gone  to  Syracuse,  for  rest,  as  he  used  to  say,  not  for  business,  wanted  to 
buy  a  small  estate,  to  which  he  could  invite  his  friends,  and  where  he 
could  take  his  own  pleasure  without  intruders.  When  his  wish  had  be- 
come generally  known,  a  certain  Pythius,  who  was  doing  a  banker's 
business  at  Syracuse,  told  him  that  he  had  a  country-seat,  not,  indeed, 
for  sale,  but  which  Canius  was  at  liberty  to  use  as  his  own  if  he  wished 
to  do  so ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  invited  the  man  to  supper  at  the 
country-seat  for  the  next  day.  He  having  accepted  the  invitation, 
Pythius,  who,  as  being  a  banker,  was  popular  among  all  classes,  called 
the  fishermen  together,  asked  them  to  fish  the  next  day  in  front  of  his 
villa,  and  told  them  what  he  wanted  them  to  do.  Canius  came  to  supper 
at  the  right  time  ;  a  magnificent  entertainment  was  prepared  by  Pythius  ; 


Cicero.  271 

a  multitude  of  little  boats  were  in  full  sight;  every  fisherman  brought 
what  he  had  taken  ;  the  fish  were  laid  down  at  the  feet  of  Pythius. 
Then  Canius  says,  "  Prithee,  what  does  this  mean  ?  So  many  fish  here? 
So  many  boats?"  And  he  answered,  "  What  wonder?  All  the  fish  for 
the  Syracuse  market  are  here;  they  come  here  to  be  in  fresh  water. 
The  fishermen  cannot  dispense  with  this  villa."  Canius,  inflamed  with 
longing,  begs  Pythius  to  sell  the  place.  He  hesitates  at  first.  To  cut 
the  story  short,  Canius  over-persuades  him.  The  greedy  and  rich  man 
buys  the  villa  for  as  high  a  price  as  Pythius  chooses  to  ask,  and  buys  the 
furniture  too.  He  gives  security  ;  he  finishes  the  business.  Canius 
the  next  day  invites  his  friends.  He  comes  early  ;  he  sees  not  a  thole- 
pin. He  asks  his  next  neighbor  whether  it  is  a  fisherman's  holiday,  as 
he  sees  none  of  them.  "Not  so  far  as  I  know,"  was  the  reply.  "No 
fishermen  are  in  the  habit  of  fishing  here.  I  therefore  yesterday  could 
not  think  what  had  occurred  to  bring  them."  Canius  was  enraged. 
But  what  was  he  to  do?  My  colleague  and  friend,  Aquillius,  had  not 
then  published  his  forms  of  legal  procedure  in  the  case  of  criminal  fraud, 
as  to  which  when  he  was  asked  for  a  definition  of  criminal  fraud,  he  re- 
plied, "  When  one  thing  is  pretended,  another  done."  This  is  perfectly 
clear,  as  might  be  expected  from  a  man  skilled  in  defining.  Pythius, 
then,  and  all  who  do  one  thing  while  they  pretend  another,  are  treach- 
erous, wicked,  villainous.  Therefore  nothing  that  they  do  can  be  ex- 
pedient, when  defiled  by  so  many  vices. 

With  one  brief  sentence  more  from  this  remarkable  vol- 
ume, we  end  our  representation  of  the  De  Officiis  of  Cicero. 
The  sentence  is  one  which  sums  up,  in  a  single  blended  ex- 
pression, at  once  the  strange  loftiness  and  the  strange  limita- 
tion of  Cicero's  moral  ideal : 

If  one  would  only  develop  the  idea  of  a  good  man  wrapped  up  in  his 
own  mind,  he  would  then  at  once  tell  himself  that  he  is  a  good  man 
who  benefits  all  that  he  can,  and  does  harm  to  no  one  unless  provoked 
by  injury. 

"  Unless  provoked  by  injury  "  !  The  wings  seemed  strong 
enough  to  raise  their  possessor  quite  clear  of  the  ground  ;  but, 
alas,  there  was  a  hopeless  clog  tied  fast  to  the  feet.  How 
easily  that  untaught  young  Judtean  to  be  born  a  generation 
later,  will  say : 


272  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

"  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse  you,  do  good  to 
them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  which  despitefuUy  use 
you  and  persecute  you." 

The  De  Senectute  (Concerning  Old  Age)  of  Cicero  is  an 
essay  such  almost  as  Addison,  for  example,  might  have  issued 
in  parts  continued  through  several  numbers  of  his  Spectator. 
It  is  a  charming  meditation  on  a  theme  that  Cicero's  time  Df 
life  when  he  wrote  it  inclined  him  and  fitted  him  to  make  the 
subject  of  discourse.  It  was  probably  written  not  far  from 
the  date  of  the  composition  of  the  De  Ofificiis.  The  literary 
form  is  that  of  a  dialogue  after  the  manner  of  Plato,  in 
which  Cato  the  Elder — an  idealized  and  glorified  man,  as 
Cicero  finely  misrepresents  the  sturdy  but  boorish  old  censor 
of  actual  history — is  the  chief  speaker.  It  is  the  gracious 
personality  of  the  writer  himself,  rather  than  the  repel- 
lent, not  to  say  repulsive,  personality  of  the  historic  char- 
acter represented,  which  diffuses  that  indescribable  charm 
over  the  exquisite  pages  of  the  De  Senectute.  Cicero  bal- 
ances the  good  and  the  ill  of  old  age,  with  a  serene  and 
suave  philosophy,  which,  while  you  read,  makes  you  feel  as 
if  it  would  be  a  thing  delightful  to  grow  old.  We  take  a 
single  passage,  only  too  brief,  from  the  concluding  part  of 
the  dialogue.  This  passage  will  be  found  to  disclose  some- 
thing of  the  spirit  in  which  the  transmitted  influence  of 
Socrates  and  Plato  enabled  Cicero,  at  least  in  his  better,  his 
more  transfigured,  moments,  to  contemplate  the  prospect  of 
death.  It  forms  a  bland  and  beautiful  contrast  to  the  hid- 
eous squalor  of  the  old  man  depicted  in  Juvenal's  satirical 
portrait.  Cato  is  speaking  to  his  younger  companions  in 
conversation — sons  they  of  illustrious  sires.  He  alludes  to  a 
son  of  his  own,  deceased,— "  my  Cato,"  he  calls  him, — with 
pathetic  reminiscence  reminding  one  of  Burke's  uttered  sor- 
row over  his  similar  bereavement,  and  of  Webster's  over  his. 
What  we  give  brings  the  dialogue  to  its  end : 


Cicero.  273 

•  I  am  transported  with  desire  to  see  your  fathers  whom  I  revered  and 
loved  ;  nor  yet  do  I  long  to  meet  those  only  whom  I  have  known,  but 
also  those  of  whom  I  have  heard  and  read,  and  about  whom  I  myself 
have  written.  Therefore  one  could  not  easily  turn  me  back  on  my  life- 
way,  nor  would  1  willingly,  like  Pelias,  be  plunged  in  the  rejuvenating 
caldron.  Indeed,  were  any  god  to  grant  that  from  my  present  age  I 
might  go  back  to  boyhood,  or  become  a  crying  child  in  the  cradle,  I 
should  steadfastly  refuse  ;  nor  would  1  be  willing,  as  from  a  finished 
race,  to  be  summoned  back  from  the  goal  to  the  starting-point.  For 
what  advantage  is  there  in  life  ?  Or  rather,  what  is  there  of  arduous 
toil  that  is  wanting  to  it?  But  grant  all  that  you  may  in  its  favor,  it 
still  certainly  has  its  excess  or  its  fit  measure  of  duration.  I  am  not,  in- 
deed, inclined  to  speak  ill  of  life,  as  many  and  even  wise  men  have  oft- 
en done,  nor  am  I  sorry  to  have  lived  ;  for  I  have  so  lived  that  I  do  not 
think  that  I  was  born  to  no  purpose.  Yet  I  depart  from  life,  as  from  an 
inn,  not  as  from  a  home  ;  for  nature  has  given  us  here  a  lodging  for 
a  sojourn,  not  a  place  of  habitation.  O  glorious  day,  when  I  shall  go 
to  that  divine  company  and  assembly  of  souls,  and  when  I  shall  depart 
from  this  crowd  and  tumult  !  I  shall  go,  not  only  to  the  men  of  whom  I 
have  already  spoken,  but  also  to  my  Cato,  than  whom  no  better  man  was 
ever  born,  nor  one  wlio  surpassed  him  in  filial  piety,  whose  funeral  pile 
I  lighted, — the  office  which  he  should  have  performed  for  me, — but 
whose  soul,  not  leaving  me,  but  looking  back  upon  me,  has  certainly 
gone  into  those  regions  whither  he  saw  that  I  should  come  to  him.  This 
my  calamity  I  seemed  to  bear  bravely.  Not  that  I  endured  it  with  an 
untroubled  mind  ;  but  I  was  consoled  by  the  thought  that  there  would 
be  between  us  no  long  parting  of  the  way  and  divided  life.  For  these 
reasons,  Scipio,  as  you  have  said  that  you  and  Lselius  have  observed 
with  wonder,  old  age  sits  lightly  upon  me.  Not  only  is  it  not  burden- 
some ;  it  is  even  pleasant.  But  if  I  err  in  believing  that  the  souls  of 
men  are  immortal,  I  am  glad  thus  to  err,  nor  am  I  willing  that  this  error  in 
which  I  delight  shall  be  wrested  from  me  so  long  as  I  live  ;  while  if  in 
death,  as  some  paltry  philosophers  think,  I  shall  have  no  consciousness, 
the  dead  philosophers  cannot  ridicule  this  delusion  of  mine.  But 
if  we  are  not  going  to  be  immortal,  it  is  yet  desirable  for  man  to 
cease  living  in  his  due  time  ;  for  nature  has  its  measure,  as  of  all  other 
things,  so  of  life.  Old  age  is  the  closmg  act  of  life,  as  of  a  drama,  and 
we  ought  in  this  to  avoid  utter  weariness,  especially  if  the  act  has  been 
prolonged  beyond  its  due  length.  I  had  these  things  to  say  about  old 
age,  which  I  earnestly  hope  that  you  may  reach,  so  that  you  can 
verify  by  experience  what  you  have  heard  from  me. 
12* 


274  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

We  feel  like  performing  an  act  of  expiation.  In  a  for- 
mer volume,  we  gave  hard  measure  in  judgment  of  the  Ro- 
man character.  We  cannot  revoke  our  sentence;  for  our 
sentence,  we  think,  was  mainly  just.  But  we  should  like  to 
strengthen  our  recommendation  to  mercy.  Cicero,  both  by 
what  he  himself  was,  and  by  noble  things  that  he  here  and 
there  reports  of  his  countrymen,  inclines  us,  willingly  per- 
suaded, to  relent  from  our  extreme  severity.  They  were  a 
great  race,  not  unworthy  of  their  fame, — those  ancient  Ro- 
mans; and  Alpine  flowers  of  moral  beauty  bloomed  amid  the 
Alpine  snow  and  ice  of  their  austere  pride,  their  matter-of- 
fact  selfishness. 

As  for  Tully,  his  glory  is  secure.  His  own  writings  are  his 
imperishable  monument.  Spoken  against  he  may  be,  but  he 
will  continue  to  be  read  ;  and  as  long  as  he  is  read,  he  will 
enjoy  his  triumph.  For  no  one  can  read  Cicero,  and  not 
feel,  in  the  face  of  whatever  faults  discovered,  irresistibly 
propitiated  toward  him. 

In  our  historic  sketch  of  Rome,  we  called  Caesar  the  sun 
of  Roman  history.  With  not  less  truth,  we  may  now  call 
Cicero  the  sun  of  Roman  literature. 


VIII. 
PLINY. 


His  letters  are  the  chief  thing  that  we  have  left  of  Pliny's 
productions.  These  letters  possess  great  interest  for  moderns. 
They  are  indeed  so  interesting,  that  if  Cicero's  are  more  in- 
teresting, the  reason,  we  are  bound  to  say,  lies  chiefly  in  the 
fact  that  a  greater  man,  a  man  who  did  greater  things,  wrote 
Cicero's  letters.  Intrinsically,  the  letters  of  Pliny  are,  in 
continuing  charm  for  modern  readers,  no  whit  inferior  to  the 
letters  of  Cicero. 


Pliny. 


/3 


Caius  Plinius  C?ecilius  Secundus,  as  we  have  before  said, 
was  a  younger  contemporary  and  friend  of  the  liistorian 
Tacitus.  He  was  also  a  friend  of  the  great  emperor  Trajan. 
Pliny  the  Elder,  whose  adopted  son  he  was,  was  an  eccentric, 
enormously  hard-working,  man  of  letters,  addicted  to  Nat- 
ural History  as  a  specialty.  He  perished — doubtful  in  what 
manner,  whether  by  sudden  disease,  or  by  suffocation  due  to 
that  convulsion  of  nature — in  the  great  historic  eruption  of 
Vesuvius,  whose  phenomena  he  had  been  curiously  observing. 

Pliny  the  Younger,  our  author,  was  well-born,  well-bred, 
and  wealthy.  All  the  circumstances  of  his  life  seemed  pro- 
pitious. He  remained  remarkably  to  the  end  an  unspoiled 
favorite  of  fortune.  His  domestic  experience  was  singularly 
pure  and  happy.  He  enjoyed  many  noble  friendships.  He 
achieved  an  active  and  successful  career  as  advocate.  He 
fulfilled  important  offices  of  state.  He  was  at  the  same  time 
a  fascinated  student,  and  a  fascinating  maker,  of  literature. 
He  used  his  wealth  to  scatter  bounty  with  a  beneficent,  as 
well  as  a  munificent,  hand.  Altogether,  a  singularly  engag- 
ing literary  figure  was  Pliny.  Scarcely  inconsistent  with  this 
is  it  to  add  that  Pliny,  as  provincial  governor,  put  Christians 
to  the  rack.  Such  conduct  on  his  part  was  of  the  age  rather 
than  of  the  man ;  while  the  humane,  inquiring  reluctance, 
the  compelled  benignity,  as  it  were,  with  which  he  pursued 
this  conduct,  was  certainly  rather  of  the  man  than  of  the  age. 

Pliny  belonged,  with  Tacitus,  and  with  Quintilian,  to  what, 
in  contrast  with  the  golden  Augustan  age,  is  called  the  silver 
age  of  Roman  literature.  It  was  a  revival,  but  not  a  com- 
plete rehabilitation,  of  the  literary  spirit  which  the  ripe  Re- 
public had  brought  to  its  height,  but  which  the  tyranny  of 
the  Empire,  under  bad  emperors,  had  insupportably  sup- 
pressed. Trajan  was,  as  it  were,  a  second  Augustus,  better 
perhaps  and  greater  than  the  first,  but  with  a  Rome  to  rule 
irrecoverably  less  responsive  than  the  Augustan,  to  virtue 
and  greatness  in  her  ruler. 


276  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Pliny's  just  comparative  rank  in  Roman  literature  does 
not  require  that  many  of  our  pages  should  be  given  to  the 
display  of  his  quality.  At  the  same  time,  such  is  the  per- 
fectly genuine  human  interest  which  lives  in  Pliny's  letters, 
that  out  of  them  we  could  fill  the  half  of  this  volume  and 
readers  should  hardly  feel  that  they  were  getting  too  much 
of  Pliny.  We  shall  be  obliged,  however,  to  confine  our 
drafts  on  Pliny's  treasures  to  about  such  limits  as  the  writer's 
proportionate  literary  importance  naturally  appoints. 

All  that,  for  the  present  purpose,  is  material,  in  the  outward 
life  of  Pliny,  may  very  briefly  be  told.  He  was  born  62  A.  D. 
He  was  in  his  eighteenth  year,  when  he  saw  the  memorable 
eruption  of  Vesuvius,  in  which  his  uncle  perished,  and  in 
which  Her-cu-la'ne-um  and  Pom-pe'ii  were  destroyed.  He 
was  still  under  twenty,  when  he  became  professional  advocate 
in  Rome.  He  had  his  apprenticeship  to  arms  as  military 
tribune  in  Syria.  After  being  successively  quDSstor  and  prae- 
tor, he  was  made  consul  in  the  year  100.  He  was  a  senator 
of  the  empire;  and  he  held  other  offices,  not  here  mentioned, 
of  dignity  and  trust.  His  conspicuous  historical  appearance 
is  in  the  capacity  of  propraetor  in  the  province  of  Pontus  and 
Bithynia.  This  propraetorship  became  to  him  the  occasion 
of  his  writing  to  the  emperor  Trajan  a  letter  which  will  make 
the  name  of  Pliny  memorable  as  long  as  the  Christian  relig- 
ion endures.  This  letter  we  shall  presently  show.  Pliny 
was  twice  married,  but,  like  so  many  Romans  of  the  slowly 
declining  empire,  he  was  childless. 

The  volume  devoted  to  Pliny  in  Ancient  Classics  for  En- 
glish Readers  is  perhaps  as  full  of  interest  for  readers  of 
all  classes  as  any  volume  whatever  belonging  to  that  series. 
It  was  prepared,  and  admirably  prepared,  by  Messrs.  Church 
&  Brodribb,  authors  of  those  translations  of  Livy  and  Tac- 
itus which  we  have  copiously  used  in  this  volume.  (Mr. 
Church  has  incidentally  done  still  another  valuable  service 
to  the  cause  of  popular  classical  culture,  in  compiling  and 


Pliny.  277 

editing  a  series  of  volumes  made  up  of  appetizing  extracts 
and  stories  out  of  ancient  authors.  These  volumes  are  illus- 
trated with  striking  pictures  in  color  from  different  hands. 
The  last  number  of  the  series  takes  its  name  from  Cicero : 
"Roman  Life  in  the  Days  of  Cicero."  Messrs.  Dodd,  Mead, 
&  Co.  republish  the  books  in  this  country.) 

We  begin  with  Pliny's  account  of  his  own  experience  in 
that  memorable  volcanic  eruption.  He,  with  his  mother  and 
his  uncle,  was  at  Mi-se'num,  near  Naples  and  therefore  near 
Vesuvius.  His  uncle  had  set  out,  with  a  fleet  of  galleys 
which  he  commanded,  to  carry  succor  to  those  inhabitants 
of  the  vicinity  who  were  more  immediately  threatened  with 
disaster.  This  benevolent  purpose  had  finally  superseded 
the  philosopher's  scientific  curiosity.  Let  Pliny,  the  nephew, 
now  take  up  the  narrative.  We  quote  and  condense  from  a 
letter  of  his,  a  letter  highly  characteristic,  in  several  ways,  of 
the  writer : 

There  had  been  noticed  for  many  days  before  a  trembling  of  the  earth. 
.  .  .  But  that  night  it  was  so  violent,  that  one  thought  that  eveiy  thing 
was  being  not  merely  moved,  but  absolutely  overturned. .  .  .  We  sat  down 
in  the  open  court  of  the  house.  .  .  .  And  now — I  do  not  know  whether 
to  call  it  courage  or  folly,  for  I  was  but  in  my  eighteenth  year — I  called 
for  a  volume  of  Livy,  read  it,  as  if  I  were  perfectly  at  leisure,  and  even 
continued  to  make  some  extracts  which  I  had  begun.  ...  It  was  now 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  .  .  .  The  danger  that  they  [the  surrounding 
buildings]  might  fall  on  us  was  imminent  and  unmistakable.  So  we  at 
last  determined  to  quit  the  town.  A  panic-stricken  crowd  followed  us. 
They  preferred  the  ideas  of  others  to  their  own — in  a  moment  of  terror 
this  has  a  certain  look  of  prudence — and  they  pressed  on  us  and  drove 
us  on,  as  we  departed,  by  their  dense  array.  When  we  had  got  away 
from  the  building  we  stopped.  There  we  had  to  endure  the  sight  of 
many  marvellous,  many  dreadful,  things.  The  carriages  which  we  had 
directed  to  be  brought  out  moved  about  in  opposite  directions,  though 
the  ground  was  perfectly  level ;  even  when  scotched  with  stones  they 
did  not  remain  steady  in  the  same  place.  Besides  this,  we  saw  the  sea 
retire  into  itself,  seeming,  as  it  were,  to  be  driven  back  by  the  trembling 
movement  of  the  earth.  The  shore  had  distinctly  advanced,  and  many 
marine  animals  were  left  high  and  dry  upon  the  sands.     Behind  us  was 


278  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

.1  dark  and  dreadful  cloud,  which  as  it  was  l:>roken  with  rapid  zigzag 
flashes,  revealed  behind  it  variously  shaped  masses  of  flame :  these  last 
were  like  sheet-lightning,  though  on  a  larger  scale.  .  .  .  Ashes  now 
began  to  fall — still,  however,  in  small  quantities.  I  looked  behind  me  ; 
a  dense,  dark  mist  seemed  to  be  following  us,  spreading  itself  over  the 
country  like  a  cloud.  "  Let  us  turn  out  of  the  way,"  I  said,  "  whilst  we 
can  still  see,  for  fear  that  should  we  fall  in  the  road  we  should  be  trod- 
den under  foot  in  the  darkness  by  the  throngs  that  accompany  us."  We 
had  scarcely  sat  down  when  night  was  upon  us — not  such  as  we  have 
when  there  is  no  moon,  or  when  the  sky  is  cloudy,  but  such  as  there  is 
in  some  closed  room  when  the  lights  are  extinguished.  You  might  hear 
the  shrieks  of  women,  the  monotonous  wailing  of  children,  the  shouts  of 
men.  Many  were  i-aising  their  voices,  and  seeking  to  recognize  by  the 
voices  that  replied,  parents,  children,  husbands,  or  wives.  Some  were 
loudly  lamenting  their  own  fate,  others  the  fate  of  those  dear  to  them. 
Some  even  prayed  for  death,  in  their  fear  of  what  they  prayed  for. 
Many  lifted  their  hands  in  prayer  to  the  gods;  more  were  convinced  that 
there  were  now  no  gods  at  all,  and  that  the  final  endless  night  of  which 
we  have  heard  had  come  upon  the  world.  ...  It  now  grew  somewhat 
light  again  ;  we  felt  sure  tliat  this  was  not  the  light  of  day,  but  a  proof 
that  tire  was  approaching  us.  Fire  there  was,  but  it  stopped  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  from  us  ;  then  came  darkness  again,  and  a  thick 
heavy  fall  of  ashes.  Again  and  again  we  stood  up  and  shook  them  off ; 
othervvise  we  should  have  been  covered  by  them,  and  even  crushed  by 
the  weight.  I  might  boast  that  not  a  sigh,  not  a  word  wanting  in 
courage,  escaped  me,  even  in  the  midst  of  peril  so  great,  had  I  not  been 
convinced  that  I  was  perishing  in  company  with  the  universe,  and  the 
universe  with  me — a  miserable  and  yet  a  mighty  solace  in  death. 


Pliny  was  enthusiastically  fond  of  country  life.  He 
owned  several  country-seats,  at  one  or  another  of  which  he 
passed  most  of  his  time.  But  wherever  he  was,  in  city  or 
in  country,  or  however  otherwise  he  was  employed,  he  was 
constantly  and  consistently  by  eminence  a  man  of  books. 
Literature  with  him  was  a  vocation  and  a  passion.  Let  us 
have  a  picture  of  Pliny  drawn  by  himself,  in  this  capacity  of 
literary  man  enjoying  the  leisure  of  life  in  the  country.  Our 
picture  we  find  in  a  letter  of  his  addressed  to  his  friend 
Fuscus : 


Pliny.  ^79 

You  wish  to  know  lio'.v  I  dispose  of  my  t-nic  in  tlie  summer  at  my 
Tuscan  villa.  I  awake  without  being  called,  <;eneially  about  six  o'clock, 
sometimes  earlier,  but  seldom  later.  My  windows  remain  shut,  as  I  find 
the  darkness  and  quiet  have  a  very  happy  effect  on  the  mind.  Being 
thus  withdrawn  from  all  objects  which  call  off  the  attention,  I  am  left  to 
my  own  thoughts  ;  and  instead  of  suffering  my  mind  to  wander  with  my 
ej'es,  I  keep  my  eyes  in  subjection  to  my  mind.  If  I  have  any  literary 
work  on  hand,  I  think  over  it,  and  revise  the  style  and  expression,  just 
as  if  I  had  my  pen  in  my  hand.  Thus  I  get  through  more  or  less  work, 
according  as  the  subject  is  more  or  less  difficult,  and  I  find  my  memory 
able  to  retain  it.  Then  I  call  for  my  amanuensis,  and  having  opened 
the  windows,  I  dictate  to  him  what  I  have  composed  ;  then  I  dismiss 
him  for  awhile,  and  call  him  in  again.  About  ten  or  eleven  (for  I  do 
not  observe  any  fixed  hour),  according  to  the  weather,  I  walk  on  the 
terrace  or  in  the  colonnade,  and  then  I  think  over  or  dictate  what  I  had 
left  unfinished.  Then  I  have  a  drive,  and  employ  myself  as  before,  and 
find  this  change  of  scene  refreshing  to  my  mind,  and  it  enables  me  to 
apply  it  with  more  vigor.  On  my  return  I  take  a  short  nap  ;  then  I 
stroll  out,  and  repeat  aloud  a  Greek  or  Latin  speech,  not  so  much  to 
strengthen  my  voice  as  my  digestion,  though  my  voice  is  improved  at 
the  same  time.  I  then  have  another  stroll,  take  my  usual  exercise, 
and  bathe.  At  dinner,  if  I  have  only  my  wife  or  a  few  friends  with  me,  a 
book  is  read  to  us,  and  after  dinner  we  have  some  music  or  a  little  play 
acted.  Then  I  walk  out  with  my  friends,  among  whom  are  some  men 
of  learning.  Thus  we  pass  the  evening  in  various  conversation,  and  the 
day,  even  when  it  is  at  the  longest,  soon  comes  to  an  end.  Sometimes 
I  make  a  little  change  in  this  order.  If  I  have  remained  in  bed,  or  taken 
a  longer  walk  than  usual,  I  have  a  ride  instead  of  a  drive,  after  having 
read  aloud  one  or  two  speeches.  Thus  I  get  more  exercise  in  less  time. 
My  friends  now  and  then  look  in  upon  me  from  the  neighboring  vil- 
lages, and  occasionally,  when  I  am  tired,  their  visits  are  a  pleasant  relief. 
Sometimes  I  hunt,  but  I  always  take  my  notebook  with  me,  so  that  if  I 
get  no  sport,  I  may  at  any  rate  bring  something  back  with  me.  Part  of 
my  time  is  given  to  my  tenants,  though  not  so  much  as  they  would  like. 
Their  rustic  squabbles  make  me  return  with  fresh  zest  to  my  studies  and 
more  cultivated  occupations. 

How  delightfully  modern  that  seems!  A  great  fellowship 
is  the  republic  of  letters.  The  writer  of  the  foregoing  epistle 
would  at  once  be  at  home  among  literary  men  of  to-day, 
wherever  met,  in  New  York  or  Boston,  in  London,  in  Paris. 


280  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

Pliny  seems  to  have  exercised,  as  a  man  of  substance  among 
his  rustic  neighbors,  something  of  the  magistrate's  function — 
like  an  English  country  squire. 

We  must  not  spend  much  time  with  Pliny's  individual 
habits  as  a  man  of  letters.  But  a  glimpse  of  what  was  gen- 
eral usage  in  the  literary  world,  before  the  invention  of  print- 
ing, will  be  relished  by  our  readers.  Such  a  glimpse  is 
afforded  in  one  of  Pliny's  letters,  describing  a  set  occasion 
on  which  the  writer,  in  his  capacity  as  poet — for  Pliny  was 
versatile  enough  to  be  poet  too — read  his  productions  to  a 
select  circle  of  personal  friends  for  the  benefit  to  be  derived 
from  their  criticisms.  This  indicates  a  practice  not  pe- 
culiar to  Pliny.  Such  a  course  as  his  was  quite  the  thing 
among  literary  men  in  the  Rome  of  that  day.  Pliny's  poems 
now  produced  were  some  comparatively  light  effusions  of  his 
genius.  He  writes  to  a  friend  in  description  of  the  affair. 
It  will  be  seen  that — agreeable  as  no  doubt  the  urbanity  and 
the  generosity  of  the  poet-host  made  the  occasion — it  was  a 
distinctly  serious  affair,  that  two  days'  session  of  friends  in 
council  over  Pliny's  lively-meant  poems : 

I  chose  for  producing  these,  the  most  seasonable  time  and  place.  To 
accustom  them  in  good  time  to  be  heard  by  listeners  that  are  taking  their 
ease,  and  at  the  dinner-table,  I  collected  my  friends  in  the  month  of  July, 
when  the  law  courts  have  least  to  do,  and  put  writing-desks  before  their 
chairs.  It  so  happened  that  on  the  morning  of  the  day  I  was  called 
away  to  an  unexpected  case  in  court.  This  gave  me  an  opportunity  for 
some  words  of  preface.  I  begged  my  friends  not  to  think  that  it  showed 
me  wanting  in  respect  to  what  I  had  in  hand  if,  when  meaning  to  read, 
though  it  was  only  to  friends  and  to  a  small  audience  (another  word 
for  friends),  I  did  not  abstain  from  the  business  of  the  forum.  I 
added,  that  even  in  writing  I  followed  this  order — put  my  friendship  be- 
fore my  pleasures,  my  business  before  my  amusement,  and  wrote  first 
for  my  friends,  secondly  for  myself.  My  book  contained  a  variety  of 
compositions  and  metres.  'Tis  thus  that  I  am  accustomed,  trusting  but 
little  to  my  talent,  to  avoid  the  risk  of  being  wearisome.  My  reading 
lasted  two  days.  The  approval  of  my  audience  made  this  necessary  ; 
and  yet,  while  some  readers  pass  over  part  of  their  volume,  and  make 


Pliny.  281 

a  merit  of  passing  it  over,  I  pass  over  nothing,  and  tell  my  hearers  as 
much.  I  read  every  thing,  because  I  want  to  correct  every  thing — a  thing 
which  those  who  read  extracts  only  cannot  do.  The  other  plan,  you 
may  say,  is  more  modest,  and  possibly  more  respectful.  Well,  but  this 
is  more  honest  and  more  affectionate.  Genuine  affection  is  so  confident 
of  affection  in  return,  as  not  to  be  afraid  of  wearying  a  friend.  Besides, 
what  benefit  do  one's  companions  confer  if  they  assemble  only  for  the 
sake  of  pleasing  themselves?  It  is  very  like  indolence,  when  a  man 
would  sooner  hear  his  friend  read  a  book  already  good,  than  help  to 
make  it  good.  Doubtless,  in  your  general  affection  for  me,  you  will 
want  to  read  as  soon  as  possible  this  book,  which  is  still  "  fermenting." 
You  shall  read  it,  but  after  it  has  passed  through  my  hands  again.  This 
was  my  reason  for  reading  it  aloud. 

What  winning  confidence  those  closing  sentences  exhibit 
Pliny  as  having  exercised,  in  the  working  and  enduring  qual- 
ities of  the  friendship  he  had  inspired  !  A  confidence  even 
too  winning,  perhaps,  for  the  strict  fidelity  of  the  criticisms 
elicited  A  genial  man,  such  as  Pliny  undoubtedly  was, 
has  his  critical  literary  friends  much  at  disadvantage  when 
entertaining  them  thus  in  the  threefold  character  of  host,  of 
poet,  and  of  reader.  It  would  go  hard  but  Pliny  got  from  his 
critics,  those  days,  some  highly  favorable  opinions  of  his  poeti- 
cal workmanship.  Let  us  not  fail  to  note  in  Pliny's  expres- 
sions what  a  charming  reflex  light  is  thrown  on  the  man's 
character  who  employed  them.  No  one  would  count  thus  on 
fidelity  of  friendship  toward  himself,  who  was  not,  on  his  own 
side,  conscious  of  maintaining  like  fidelity  of  friendship 
toward  others.  No  cynic  was  this  Pliny,  to  conceive  a 
bore  as — the  man  who  insists  on  talking  about  himself  all  the 
time  that  you  are  anxious  to  be  talking  about  yourself!  If 
he  were  anything  himself  of  a  bore — and  perish  the  thought ! 
Pliny  at  least  never  found  a  bore  among  his  friends.  Every 
friend  of  his,  he  saw  in  a  color  of  rose  that  plentifully  flushed 
outward  upon  all  from  his  own  gracious  spirit.  Such  men 
as  Pliny  are  rare,  but  every  such  man  is  a  benediction. 

One  glimpse  now  of  Pliny  as  a  man   of  the  world — the 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


world  that  dines,  and  gives  dinners.  We  quote  briefly  from 
Messrs.  Church  and  Brodribb's  volume  on  Pliny.  The  Virro 
spoken  of  is  a  character  in  one  of  Juvenal's  satires  : 

"  It  was  once  Pliny's  misfortune  to  have  to  dine,  as  a  com- 
parative stranger,  with  a  man  like  Virro,  who  thought  him- 
self (so  Pliny  says)  a.i  exceedingly  elegant  and  attentive 
host,  but  who  really  combined  expense  with  stinginess. 
There  were  three  kinds  of  wine  ;  the  best  he  reserved  for 
himself  and  Pliny,  the  next  best  for  his  inferior  friends,  while 
the  worst  was  given  to  his  freedmen  and  to  those  of  Pliny, 
who,  it  appears,  were  present.  One  of  the  guests  who  sat  by 
Pliny  observed  the  arrangement,  and,  turning  round,  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  it,  and  whether  he  approved  of  it. 
Pliny  shook  his  head.  'Well,  then,  what  do  you  do  on  such 
occasions  ? '  'I  give  all  my  guests  the  same  wine,*  said  Pliny, 
'  for  when  I  ask  them  to  dinner,  I  look  on  my  freedmen  as 
my  guests,  and  forget  that  they  were  once  slaves.'  " 

Pliny,  evidently,  by  birth  and  by  breeding,  understood 
what  it  was  to  be  a  gentleman.  This  gentleman-like  quality 
in  Pliny  enabled  him — man  of  books  though  he  was — to  enter 
into  sympathetic  relations  with  men  of  affairs.  Men  of  af- 
fairs, accordingly,  were  some  members  of  that  remarkable 
group  of  illustrious  friends  associated  with  the  name  and 
fame  of  Pliny.  Of  these,  foremost  perhaps  was  Verginius 
Rufus — a  name  that  occurs,  and  more  than  once,  in  the  his- 
tory of  Tacitus.  We  shorten  from  a  letter  of  Pliny  an  ac- 
count of  this  man's  death  : 

He  died  in  his  eighty- fourth  year,  in  the  most  perfect  cahii,  reverenced 
by  all.  .  .  .  His  last  illness,  indeed,  was  severe  and  tedious,  but  its  cir- 
cumstances added  to  his  reputation.  He  was  one  day  practicing  his 
voice  with  tlie  view  of  delivering  a  speech  of  thanks  to  the  emperor  for 
having  promoted  him  to  the  consulship,  and  had  taken  in  his  hand  a 
large  volume,  which  was  rather  too  heavy  for  an  old  man  to  hold  as  he 
stood  up.  It  slipped  from  his  grasp,  and  in  hastily  trying  to  recover  it, 
his  foot  slipped  on  the  smooth  pavement  ;  he  fell  and  broke  his  thigh- 
bone, which  being  badly  set  (his  age  being  against  him),  did  not  properly 


Pliny.  283 

unite.  His  funeral  obsequies  have  done  honor  to  the  emperor,  to  the 
age,  and  to  the  bar.  Cornelius  Tacitus,  as  consul,  pronounced  over  him 
the  funeral  oration.  His  good  fortune  was  crowned  by  having  so  elo- 
quent a  speaker  to  celebrate  his  praises.  He  died,  indeed,  full  of  years 
and  of  glory,  famous  even  from  honors  which  he  had  refused. 

Verginius  Rufus   was   more  than  emperor — he  had  refused 
to  be  emperor. 

Another  of  Pliny's  friends  was  Vestricius  Spurinna.  Spu- 
rinna  was  a  man  whom  Mr.  Lowell  might  have  written  a  de- 
lightful essay  about,  with  the  title  "  A  Great  Public  Char- 
acter." He  was  a  Roman,  to  be  likened,  in  long-surviving 
venerable  age  and  venerable  character,  to  that  American 
Roman,  Josiah  Quincy  —  a  picturesque,  or  rather  perhaps 
statuesque,  figure  among  us,  but  lately  gone  hence,  who 
seemed,  while  still  living,  to  bring  down  to  our  own  days  the 
first  days  of  our  Republic,  as,  for  Pliny,  Spurinna  revived  the 
age  that  preceded  the  empire.  When  you  read  the  following 
letter  of  Pliny's  (translated  in  Dean  Merivale's  "History  of 
the  Romans  under  the  Empire  "),  you  must  remember  that 
the  subject  of  it  is  now  a  man  who  '  has  lived,'  as  the  Romans 
might  say,  that  is,  a  man  whose  life  of  achievement  is  past 
and  who  rests  on  his  laurels — laurels  well  earned,  and  envied 
to  their  possessor  by  no  one.  Pliny  had  a  fine  instinct  of 
reverence.  A  quite  enchanting  person  he  must  have  been 
for  an  old  man  to  have  for  a  friend.  Doubtless  he  idealizes 
somewhat  in  describing  the  old  age  of  Spurinna ;  but  is  it 
not  a  lovely  picture  that  Pliny  here  draws,  of  repose  enjoyed 
after  "long  labor  unto  aged  breath  " .?  You  miss  in  it  only 
one  light — a  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land — the  light 
from  a  future  foreshown  through  faith  in  Him  who  is  the 
resurrection  and  the  life.     Now  Pliny's  letter : 

I  know  not  that  I  ever  passed  a  pleasanter  time  than  lately  with 
Spurinna.  There  is  indeed  no  man  I  should  so  much  wish  to  resemble 
in  my  own  old  age,  if  I  am  permitted  to  grow  old.  Nothing  can  be  finer 
than  such  a  mode  of  life.     For  my  part  I  like  a  well-ordered  course  of 


Colles^e  Latin  Course  iii  Ens:lish. 


life,  particularly  in  old  men,  just  as  I   admire  the  regular  order  of  the 
stars.     Some  amount  of  irregularity,  and  even  of  confusion,  is  not  unbe- 
coming in  youth  ;  but  every  thing  should  be  regular  and  methodical  with 
old  men,  who  are  too  late  for  labor,  and  in  whom  ambition  would  be  in- 
decent.    This  regularity  Spurinna  strictly  observes,  and  his  occupations, 
trifling  as  they  are  (trifling,  that  is,  were  they  not  performed  day  by  day 
continuall)'),  he  repeats  as  it  were  in  a  circle.     At  dawn  he  keeps  his 
bed,  at  seven  he  asks  for  his  slippers  ;  he  then  walks  just  three  miles, 
exercising  his  mind  at  the  same  time  with  his  limbs.     If  friends  are  by, 
he  discourses  seriously  with  them  ;  if  not,  he  hears  a  book  read  ;  and  so 
he  sometimes  does  even  when   friends  are  present,  if  it  be  not  disagree- 
able to  them.     He  then  seats  himself,  and  more  reading  follows,  or  more 
conversation,  which  he  likes  better.     By  and  by  he  mounts  his  carriage, 
taking  with  him  his  wife,  a  most  admirable  woman,  or  some  friends — as 
myself,  for  instance,  the  other  day.     What  a  noble,  what  a  charming 
iete-d-tete  ! — how  much  talk  of  ancient  things  !  what  deeds,  what  men, 
you  hear  of!  what  noble  precepts  you  imbibe,  though,  indeed,  he  refrains 
from  all  appearance  of  teaching  !     Returning  from  a  seven-mile  drive, 
he  walks  again  one  mile  ;  then  sits  down  or  reclines  with  a  pen  in  his 
har.d,  for  he  composes  lyrical  pieces  with  elegance  both  in  Greek  and 
Latin.     Very  soft,   sweet,  and  merry  they  are,  and  their  charm  is  en- 
hanced by  the  decorum  of  the  author's  own  habits.     When  the  hour  of 
the  bath  is  announced — that  is,  at  two  in  summer,  at  three  in  winter — 
he  strips  and  takes  a  turn  in  the  sun,  if  there  is  no  wind.     Then  he  uses 
strong  exercise  for  a  considerable  space  at  tennis,  for  this  is  the  disci- 
pline with  which  he  struggles  against  old  age.     After  the  bath  he  takes 
his  place    at    table,  but  puts  off  eating  for  a    time,  listening    in    the 
meanwhile  to  a  little   light  and  pleasant   reading.      All   this  time  his 
friends  are  free  to  do  as  he  does,  or  anything  else  they  please.      Dinner 
is  then  served,  elegant  and  moderate,  on  plain  but   ancient  silver.      He 
uses  Corinthian  bronzes,  too,  and   admires  without  being  foolishly  ad- 
dicted to  them.     Players  are  often  introduced  between  the  courses,  tliat 
the  pleasures  of  the  mind  may  give  a  relish  to  those  of  the  palate.     He 
trenches  a  little  on  the  night  even  in  summer  ;  but  no  one  finds  the  time 
tire,  such  are  his  kindness  and  urbanity  tliroughout.     Hence  now,  at 
the  age  of  seventy-seven,  he  both  hears  and  sees  perfectly  ;  hence  his 
frame  is  active  and  vigorous  ;  he  has  nothing  but  old  age  to  remind  him 
to  take  care  of  himself.     Such  is  the  mode  of  life   to  which  I  look  for- 
ward for  myself,  and  on  which  I  will  enter  with  delight  as  soon  as  ad- 
vancing years  allow  me  to  efiect  a  retreat.     Meanwhile  I  am  harassed 
by  a  thousand   troubles,  in  which  Spurinna  is  my  consolation,  as  he  has 


Pliny.  285 

ever  been  my  example.  For  he,  too,  as  long  as  it  became  him,  dis- 
charged duties,  bore  offices,  governed  provinces  ;  and  great  was  the  la- 
bor by  which  he  earned  his  relaxation. 

Corellius  Rufus,  another  friend  of  Pliny,  grew  old  differ- 
ently, but  after  a  manner  certainly  not  less  Roman.  His 
death  was  perhaps  nothing  but  "well  and  fair,"  according 
to  the  accepted  ideas  of  his  time ;  but  it  was  no  euthanasy, 
judged  by  any  standard.  Let  Pliny  tell  the  story  of  it.  The 
translation  we  use  occurs  in  Merivale's  history  : 

I  have  just  suffered  a  great  loss.  My  friend  Corellius  Rufus  is  dead, 
and  by  his  own  act,  which  embitters  my  sorrow.  No  death  is  so  much 
to  be  lamented  as  one  that  comes  not  in  the  course  of  fate  or  nature. 
Corellius,  indeed,  was  led  to  this  resolve  by  the  force  of  reason,  which 
holds  with  philosophers  the  place  of  necessity,  although  he  had  many 
motives  for  living — a  good  conscience,  a  high  reputation  and  influence,  not 
to  mention  a  daughter,  a  wife,  a  grandson,  sisters,  and  true  friends  besides. 
But  he  was  tortured  by  so  protracted  a  malady  that  his  reasons  for  death 
outweighed  all  these  advantages.  .  .  .  The  disease  was  hereditary  with 
him.  In  the  vigor  of  life  he  had  checked  it  by  sobriety  and  restraint  ; 
when  it  grew  worse  with  increasing  years,  he  had  borne  it  with  fortitude 
and  patience.  I  visited  him  one  day,  in  Domitian's  time,  and  found 
him  in  the  greatest  suffering,  for  the  disease  had  spread  from  the  feet  all 
through  his  limbs.  His  slaves  quitted  the  room,  for  such  was  their 
habit  whenever  an  intimate  friend  came  to  see  him  ;  and  such  was  also 
his  wife's  practice,  though  she  could  have  kept  any  secret.  After  cast- 
ing his  eyes  around,  he  said,  "  Why  do  you  suppose  it  is  I  continue  so 
long  to  endure  these  torments?  I  would  survive  the  ruffian  [meaning 
Domitian]  just  one  day."  Had  his  body  been  as  strong  as  his  mind, 
this  wish  he  would  have  effected  with  his  own  hand.  God  granted  it, 
however  ;  and  when  he  felt  that  he  should  die  a  free  man,  he  burst 
through  all  the  lesser  ties  which  bound  him  to  life.  The  malady  which 
he  had  tried  so  long  to  relieve  by  temperance  still  increased.  At  last 
his  firmness  gave  way.  Two,  three,  four  days  passed,  and  he  had  re- 
fused all  food.  His  wife,  Hispulla,  sent  our  friend  Geminius  to  me,  with 
the  melancholy  news  that  her  husband  had  resolved  to  die,  and  would 
not  be  dissuaded  by  her  prayers  or  her  daughter's  ;  I  alone  could  pre- 
vail upon  him.  I  flew  to  him.  I  had  almost  reached  the  spot,  when 
Atlicus  met  me  from  Hispulla  to  say  that  even  I  could  not  now  prevail, 
so  fixed  had  become  his  determination.      To  his  physician,  indeed,  on 


2  86  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

food  being  offered  him,  he  had  said,  "I  have  decided  ;"  an  expression 
which  makes  me  the  more  regret  him,  as  I  the  more  admire  him. 

The  fashion  in  suicide  had  changed  from  the  time  when 
bleeding  to  death  was  the  favorite  mode.  What  grim  Roman 
courage  and  pride,  but  what  dreary  views  of  life,  and  of  death, 
and  of  that  which  follows  death,  were  implied  in  stark  self- 
starving  by  way  of  forlorn  escape  from  otherwise  inevitable  ill ! 
Pliny  elsewhere  tells  us  of  a  Roman  wife  in  health  who  bound 
herself  to  her  husband  suffering  from  incurable  disease,  and, 
so  bracing  his  less  resolute  spirit  to  the  act,  leaped  with  him 
into  Lake  Como  to  free  him  from  his  burden  of  life. 

We  began  with  bringing  Pliny  hither  toward  our  own  times, 
by  some  traits  and  habits  in  him  that  made  him  seem  almost 
a  man  of  to-day.  We  have  since  been  pushing  him  back  to 
a  truly  ancient  and  alien  age,  by  a  sad  environment  shown 
beleaguering  him,  of  pagan  pessimism — not  the  make-believe 
sentiment  that  preaches,  but  the  sentiment  real  and  earnest 
that  practices,  suicide.  Let  us  have  Pliny  back  again  among 
us,  a  living  man  once  more,  a  man  as  modern  as  philan- 
thropist Mr.  Peabody.  We  shall  make  him  seem  changed 
almost  Christian  from  Pagan,  as  well  as  almost  modern  from 
ancient. 

Pliny  writes  to  his  friend,  the  great  historian  Tacitus,  for 
assistance.  It  is  in  a  certain  project  of  benevolence  enter- 
tained by  the  writer  that  the  assistance  is  invoked.  The 
following  extract,  which  we  may  confidently  expect  to  ex- 
cite the  gratified  surprise  of  our  readers,  will  need  no  ex- 
planation : 

Being  lately  at  my  native  town,  a  young  lad,  son  of  one  of  my  neigh- 
bors, came  to  pay  me  a  complimentary  call.  "  Do  you  go  to  school  ?  "  I 
asked  him.  "  Yes,"  he  replied.  "Where?"  "  At  Mediolanum."  "Why 
not  here  ?  "  "  Because,"  said  his  father,  who  had  come  with  him,  "  we  have 
no  professors  here."  "  No  professors  !  Why,  surely,  "  I  replied,  "  it 
would  be  very  much  to  the  interest  of  all  you  fathers  (and,  fortunately, 
several    fathers  heard  what  I    said)   to  have   your  sons  educated  here 


Pliny.  287 

rather  than  anywhere  else.  ...  I  have  no  children  myself;  I  look  on 
my  native  town  in  the  light  of  a  child  on  a  parent,  and  I  am  ready  to 
advance  a  third  part  of  any  sum  which  you  think  fit  to  raise  for  the  pur- 
pose. I  would  even  promise  the  whole  amount,  were  I  not  afraid  that 
my  benefaction  might  be  spoilt  by  jobbery,  as  I  see  happens  in  many 
towns  where  teachers  are  engaged  at  the  public  expense." 

A  wise,  as  well  as  a  generous,  giver,  this  man,  you  observe, 
endeavors  to  be.  Consider  if  Mr.  Peabody's  late  prudent 
provision  for  promoting  education  in  the  South  of  our 
country  was  not  substantially  anticipated  by  this  forecasting 
philanthropist  of  ancient  pagan  Rome.  Christianity  was  now 
about  a  hundred  years  old  in  the  world.  Had  some  influ- 
ence from  it  traveled  through  the  air  to  reach  the  uncon- 
scious heart  of  Pliny?  Alas,  then  also  "  jobbery  "  was  to  be 
guarded  against — even  in  the  administration  of  a  sacred  be- 
nevolent trust !  Pliny,  fain  to  have  given  himself  the  whole, 
dared  give  but  a  third  part  of  the  sum  to  be  raised.  But  he 
wanted  his  third  part  to  be  large.  He  reports  himself  as 
saying : 

So  take  counsel  together,  and  be  encouraged  by  my  example,  and  be 
assured  that  the  greater  my  proportion  of  the  expense  shall  be,  the  better 
shall  I  be  pleased. 

What  Pliny  asked  from  Tacitus  was  help  in  securing  good 
teachers  for  his  proposed  foundation. 

One  love-letter  now  from  Pliny  to  his  wife,  and  the  man 
shall  be  considered  to  have  been  sufficiently  self-portrayed  to 
our  readers.  The  letter  is  short,  but  to  Calpurnia  the  wife 
it  was  sweet : 

You  will  not  believe  what  a  longing  for  you  possesses  me.  The  chief 
cause  of  this  is  my  love  ;  and  then  we  have  not  grown  used  to  be  apart. 
So  it  comes  to  pass  that  I  spend  a  great  part  of  the  night  in  a  wakeful- 
ness that  dwells  on  your  image  ;  and  that  by  day,  when  the  hours 
return' at  which  I  was  wont  to  visit  you,  my  feet  take  me,  as  is  so  truly 
said,  to  your  chamber;  and  that  at  last,  sick  and  sad  at  heart,  like  a 
lover  whom  his  mistress  shuts  out,  I  depart  from  the  empty  thresliold. 
The  only  time  that  is  free  from  these  torments  is  when  I  am  bcin<j  worn 


2  88  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

out  by  the  business  of  the  courts  and  the  suits  of  my  friends.  Judj^e 
you  what  must  be  my  life  when  I  find  my  repose  in  toil,  my  solace  in 
wretchedness  and  anxiety. 

Who  would  have  looked  to  find  that  exquisite  snatch  from 
Shelley's  serenade, 

"And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 

Has  led  me — who  knows  how  ? 

To  thy  chamber-window,  sweet " — 

hiding  in  a  love-letter  of  Pliny's,  and  confessing  itself  already 
old  when  that  love-letter  was  written  ! 

Pliny  must,  upon  the  whole,  seem  very  modern,  very  life- 
like, to  readers  of  what  has  here  been  shown  of  his  letters. 
This  by  virtue  of  what  he  manifestly  was  in  himself.  But  his 
historic  place  also  had  the  effect,  by  a  striking  chance  that 
befell  him,  to  remove  Pliny  for  us  out  of  that  world  which 
perished  utterly  with  the  perishing  of  Olympianism,  and  set 
him  forward  into  that  new  world  which  was  created  by 
Christianity.  This  polished,  this  humane  Roman  gentleman 
came,  as  provincial  governor,  into  contact  with  Christians. 
It  was  the  touch  of  Ithuriel's  spear.  It  found  Pliny  out  but 
a  pagan — though  so  charming  a  pagan — a  pagan,  after  all. 

It  is  only  justice  to  Trajan  and  Pliny,  as  also  to  the  states- 
men in  general  of  imperial  Rome,  to  say  on  their  behalf  that, 
to  them,  the  measures  of  persecution  enforced  against  Chris- 
tians not  unnaturally  seemed  warranted  by  the  principle  of 
self-defense.  A  despotism  like  the  empire  could  not  perma- 
nently endure  with  the  Christian  Church  fostered  in  its 
bosom.  The  Christian  Church  was  imperium  in  imperio — an 
empire  within  the  empire.  The  emperors  were  wise  in 
their  generation  to  see  this.  They  tried  to  suppress  the 
Christian  Church,  not  as  a  religious  society,  but  as  a  society. 
Any  society  was  dangerous  to  the  empire. 

We  give  now  Pliny's  famous  letter  to  the  emperor  Trajan. 
What  he  says  in  the  first  sentence  was  true,  to  an  extent  that 


Pliny.  2  89 

must  have  made  good  Pliny  a  trifle  troublesome  now  and 
again  to  the  busy  ruler  of  the  world.  But  the  present  occa- 
sion of  resort  to  his  imperial  chief  for  instruction  was  cer- 
tainly important  enough  : 

It  is  my  invariable  rule  to  refer  to  you  in  all  matters  about  which  I 
feel  doubtful.  Who  can  better  remove  my  doubts  or  inform  my  igno- 
rance? I  have  never  been  present  at  any  trials  of  Christians,  so  that  I 
do  not  know  what  is  the  nature  of  the  charge  against  them  or  what  is 
the  usual  punishment.  Whether  any  difference  or  distinction  is  made 
between  the  young  and  persons  of  mature  years — whether  repentance  of 
their  fault  entitles  them  to  pardon — whether  the  very  profession  of 
Christianity,  unaccompanied  by  any  criminal  act,  or  whether  only  the 
crime  itself  involved  in  the  profession,  is  a  subject  of  punishment ;  on  all 
these  points  I  am  in  great  doubt.  Meanwhile,  as  to  those  persons  who 
have  been  charged  before  me  with  being  Christians,  I  have  observed  the 
following  method  :  I  asked  them  whether  they  were  Christians  ;  if  they 
admitted  it,  I  repeated  the  question  twice,  and  threatened  them  with 
punisliment ;  if  they  persisted,  I  ordered  them  to  be  at  once  punished. 
I  could  not  doubt  that  whatever  might  be  the  nature  of  their  opinions, 
such  inflexible  obstinacy  deserved  punishment.  Some  were  brought  be- 
fore me,  possessed  with  the  same  infatuation,  who  were  Roman  citizens ; 
these  I  took  care  should  be  sent  to  Rome.  As  often  happens,  the  accu- 
sation spread,  from  being  followed,  and  various  phases  of  it  came  under 
my  notice.  An  anonymous  information  was  laid  before  me,  containing 
a  great  number  of  names.  Some  said  they  neither  were  and  never  had 
been  Christians  ;  they  repeated  after  me  an  invocation  of  the  gods,  and 
offered  wine  and  incense  before  your  statue  (which  I  had  ordered 
to  be  brought  for  that  purpose,  together  with  those  of  the  gods),  and 
even  reviled  the  name  of  Christ;  whereas  there  is  no  forcing,  it  is  said, 
those  who  are  really  Christians  into  any  of  these  acts.  These  I  thought 
ought  to  be  discharged.  Some  among  them,  who  were  accused  by  a 
witness  in  person,  at  first  confessed  themselves  Christians,  but  imme- 
diately after  denied  it  ;  the  rest  owned  that  they  had  once  been  Chris- 
tians, but  had  now  (some  above  three  years,  others  more  and  a  few  above 
twenty  years  ago)  renounced  the  profession.  They  all  worshiped  your 
statue  and  those  of  the  gods,  and  uttered  imprecations  against  the  name 
of  Christ.  They  declared  that  their  offense  or  crime  was  summed  up  in 
this,  that  they  met  on  a  stated  day  before  day-break,  and  addressed  a 
form  of  prayer  to  Christ,  as  to  a  divinity,  binding  themselves  by  a  sol- 
emn oath,  not  for  any  wicked  purpose,  but  never  to  commit  fraud,  theft, 

13 


2 go  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

or  adulteiy,  never  to  break  their  word,  or  to  deny  a  trust  when  called  on 
to  deliver  it  up  :  after  which  it  was  their  custom  to  separate,  and  then 
re-assemble,  and  to  eat  together  a  harmless  meal.  From  this  custom, 
however,  they  desisted  after  the  proclamation  of  my  edict,  by  which, 
according  to  your  commands,  I  forbade  the  meeting  of  any  assemblies. 
In  consequence  of  their  declaration,  I  judged  it  necessary  to  try  to  get  at 
the  real  truth  by  putting  to  the  torture  two  female  slaves,  who  are  said 
to  officiate  in  their  religious  rites  ;  but  all  I  could  discover  was  evidence 
of  an  absurd  and  extravagant  superstition.  And  so  I  adjourned  all 
further  proceedings  in  order  to  consult  you.  It  seems  to  me  a  matter 
deserving  your  consideration,  more  especially  as  great  numbers  must  be 
involved  in  the  danger  of  these  prosecutions,  which  have  already  ex- 
tended, and  are  still  likely  to  extend,  to  persons  of  all  ranks,  ages,  and  of 
both  sexes.  The  contagion  of  the  superstition  is  not  confined  to  the 
cities,  it  has  spread  into  the  villages  and  the  country.  Still  I  think  it 
may  be  checked.  At  any  rate,  the  temples  which  were  almost  aban- 
doned, again  begin  to  be  frequented,  and  the  sacred  rites,  so  long  neg- 
lected, are  revived,  and  there  is  also  a  general  demand  for  victims  for 
sacrifice,  which,  till  lately,  found  very  'io.^'  purchasers.  From  all  this  it 
is  easy  to  conjecture  what  numbers  might  be  reclaimed,  if  a  general 
pardon  were  granted  to  those  who  repent  of  their  error. 

"  The  light  shineth  in  darkness  and  the  darkness  compre- 
hended it  not !  " 

Trajan  replied  as  follows  : 

You  have  adopted  the  right  course  in  investigating  the  charges  made 
against  the  Christians  who  were  brought  before  you.  It  is  not  possible  to 
lay  down  any  general  rule  for  all  such  cases.  Do  not  go  out  of  your  way  to 
look  for  them.  If  they  are  brought  before  you,  and  the  offense  is  proved, 
you  must  punish  them  ;  but  with  this  restriction,  that  when  the  person 
denies  that  he  is  a  Christian,  and  shall  make  it  evident  that  he  is  not  by 
invoking  the  gods,  he  is  to  be  pardoned,  notwithstanding  any  former 
suspicion  against  him.  Anonymous  informations  ought  not  to  be  received 
in  any  sort  of  prosecution.  It  is  introducing  a  very  dangerous  precedent, 
and  is  quite  foreign  to  the  spirit  of  our  age. 

'Against  the  spirit  of  our  age,'  was,  it  seems,  a  phrase  then, 
as  it  is  now.  The  appeal  happens,  in  this  instance,  to  have 
been  well  and  wisely  taken  by  Trajan.  But  traits  there  were 
belonging  to  the  spirit  of  Trajan's  age,  which  might  profit- 


Pliny.  291 

ably  admonish  us  how  far  off  the  formula  is  from  being,  in 
any  case,  a  necessary  conclusion  of  argument. 

Farewell  to  Pliny. 

Pliny  persecuted  Christians.  But  so  did  Saul  of  Tarsus. 
And  Saul  of  Tarsus  sought  out  Christians  that  he  might 
persecute  them — as  did  not  either  Pliny  or  Trajan.  Saul  of 
Tarsus  was  "  exceedingly  mad  "  against  Christians.  Pliny 
was  considerate  and  moderate.  Saul  found  mercy  because 
he  acted  ignorantly  in  unbelief.  Pliny  too  acted  in  unbelief, 
and  in  unbelief  more  deeply  ignorant  than  Saul's. 

Farewell  to  Pliny.  Let  him  rest.  The  question  for  me 
is,  Am  I  as  much  wiser,  as  much  better,  than  Pliny  as  my 
light  is  greater  than  his  1 


IX. 
QUINTILIAN. 


We  reach  now  the  concluding  chapter  at  once  of  the 
volume  and  of  the  series.  Happily,  in  treating  here  of 
Quintilian,  we  can  make  this  chapter  serve  as  a  kind  of  epi- 
logue, a  retrospect  of  all  the  preceding  part  of  our  work. 

Easily  prince  among  Roman  producers  of  what  may  be 
called  '  literature  about  literature  '  is  Quintilian.  Quintilian 
falls — as,  somewhat  farther,  does  Pliny — on  the  hither  side  of 
the  line  that  bounds  the  strictly  classic  period  in  Latin  litera- 
ture. He  was  late  enough  to  be  in  jjosition  for  passing  under 
review — and  this,  in  his  rhetorical  and  critical  treatise.  The 
Education  of  the  Orator,  he  actually  does  —  every  Roman 
author  considered  in  our  two  volumes  devoted  to  the  litera- 
ture of  Rome.  His  work  of  critical  estimation  was  even 
more  comprehensive  than  this.  For  Quintilian  extended  the 
scope  of  his  observations  to  include  also  the  principal 
Greek  writers  as  well  as  the  Roman.     It  thus  happens  that, 


292  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

in  displaying  Quintilian's  own  individual  quality  as  author, 
we  shall  be  able,  very  naturally,  to  produce  out  of  his  book, 
highly  interesting  and  valuable  critical  appreciations  of  nearly 
all  the  literary  names,  both  Greek  and  Roman,  that  from 
first  to  last  have  been  represented  in  this  whole  series  of 
volumes. 

Marcus  Fabius  Quin-til-i-a'nus  was  a  Spaniard,  as  also  was 
his  senior  contemporary  and  rival,  Anneeus  Seneca.  Rival 
to  Quintilian,  we  call  Seneca.  But  these  two  writers  were 
more  than  mutual  rivals.  They  were  antagonists.  They 
represented  severally  two  opposite  tastes  and  tendencies  in 
literary  style.  Seneca  was  the  beginner  in  Rome  of  the 
style  that  seeks  epigram,  point,  brilliancy,  at  sacrifice  of  sim- 
plicity, naturalness,  truth.  It  belonged  to  the  character 
of  Seneca  as  man,  that  he  should  have  this  character  as 
writer.  For  it  is  only  just  to  say,  that  the  view  of  Seneca 
obtainable  from  Tacitus  is,  on  the  whole,  though  shaded  with 
suggestion  of  sinister  doubt,  yet  too  favorable  to  the  philoso- 
pher's fame.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  alloy  in  Seneca's 
gold.  He  was  partly  an  actor  in  setting  up  for  philosopher. 
At  all  events,  he  preached  a  virtue  that  he  failed,  and  sig- 
nally failed,  to  practice.  It  was,  we  repeat,  entirely  proper 
of  such  a  man  to  be  such  a  writer  as  was  Seneca.  But  Seneca, 
though  not  sound  to  the  core,  was  yet  a  strong  nature.  He 
exerted  while  living  great  influence  on  current  literary 
form;  and  that  influence  was  far  from  being  wholly  for 
evil.  He  is,  perhaps,  in  large  part  responsible  for  both  the 
good  and  the  bad  in  the  style  of  Lucan  the  poet,  his  nephew. 
Nay,  even  Tacitus — who,  gratefully  perhaps,  treated  his  master 
but  too  well  in  his  history — was  probably  not  a  little  indebted 
to  Seneca  for  that  noble,  though  manneristic,  mold  of  ex- 
pression in  which  the  historian  came  so  naturally  to  cast  his 
thought. 

To  this  elaborate,  this  artificial,  tendency  in  literary  style, 
Quintilian  opposed  himself,  with  all  the  authority  that  be- 


Qiiintilian.  293 

longed  to  his  great  reputation  as  advocate,  rhetorician,  and 
teacher.  He  became,  not  only  for  his  own  age,  but  for  all 
ages  to  follow,  a  great  bulwark  of  defense  for  genuine  and 
wholesome  taste  and  aspiration  in  literature. 

Quintilian  had  already,  in  his  twofold  capacity  of  advocate 
and  rhetorician,  run  a  brilliant  career  before  writing  the 
book  by  which  he  is  known.  That  book  in  fact  is  the  fruit 
of  the  observation,  the  experience,  the  study,  the  reflection, 
of  a  lifetime  devoted  by  the  author  to  the  theme  with 
which  he  deals.  His  theme  is  the  training  of  the  orator. 
This  theme  is  by  him  conceived  very  freely  and  largely. 
According  to  Quintilian,  the  orator  begins  to  be  trained  as 
soon  as  he  is  born.  Quintilian  thus  treats  of  the  whole  mak- 
ing, and  not,  like  Aristotle,  like  Cicero,  like  Tacitus,  in  their 
works  on  the  same  subject,  simply  of  the  finishing,  of  the 
orator.  He  is  very  suggestive  and  wise  as  to  methods  in 
early  education.  He  makes  our  modern  authorities  on  this 
topic  seem  trite.  In  truth,  you  often,  in  reading  Quintilian, 
have  the  sensation  of  finding  fresh  illustration  of  Solomon's 
saying,  that  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun. 

Highly  interesting,  and  highly  instructive  as  well,  it  would 
be,  to  fill  page  after  page  of  this  volume  from  that  store  of 
sage  observation  on  his  general  theme  which  makes  Quin- 
tilian's  treatise  so  rich  a  possession  in  literature.  But,  as 
already  hinted,  our  true  course  will  be  to  let  Quintilian  ap- 
pear before  our  readers,  principally,  as  a  teacher  teaching 
literary  art  through  criticism  of  those  by  whom  the  literary 
art  has  been  practiced. 

We  may  appropriately  begin  with  something  that  Quintil- 
ian has  to  say  of  Seneca,  his  rhetorical  rival  and  antagonist. 
This,  as  well  perhaps  as  any  thing  that  could  be  exhibited, 
will  serve  to  show  at  the  same  time  the  essential  spirit  of 
Quintilian,  and  the  relation  in  which  Quintilian  felt  himself 
to  stand  toward  a  contemporary  author  enjoying  at  the 
moment    an    overwhelming  popularity,   especially   with   the 


294  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

young.  The  moderation,  the  firmness,  the  good  sense, 
characteristic  of  Quintilian,  appear  in  every  line.  He  has 
reached,  and  half  finished,  the  tenth  of  his  twelve  books, 
before  arriving  at  the  name  of  Seneca  (the  translation  we 
use  is  that  of  Mr.  J.  S.  Watson,  found  in  Bohn's  Classical 
Library) : 

Of  Seneca  I  have  purposely  delayed  to  speak,  in  reference  to  any  de- 
partment of  eloquence,  on  account  of  a  false  report  that  has  been  circu- 
lated respecting  me,  from  which  I  was  supposed  to  condemn  and  even 
to  hate  him.  This  happened  to  me  while  I  was  striving  to  bring  back 
our  style  of  speaking,  which  was  spoiled  and  enervated  by  every  kind 
of  fault,  to  a  more  severe  standard  of  taste.  At  that  time  Seneca  was 
almost  the  only  writer  in  the  hands  of  the  young.  I  was  not  desirous, 
for  my  own  part,  to  set  him  aside  altogether,  but  I  could  not  allow  him 
to  be  preferred  to  those  better  authors  whom  he  never  ceased  to  attack, 
since,  being  conscious  that  he  had  adopted  a  different  style  from  theirs, 
he  distrusted  his  power  of  pleasing  those  by  whom  they  were  admired. 
.  .  .  Still  he  had  many  and  great  merits.  .  .  .  There  are  many  bright 
thoughts  in  him,  and  much  that  may  be  read  for  moral  improvement, 
but  most  of  his  phraseology  is  in  a  vitiated  taste,  and  most  hurtful  to 
students  for  the  very  reason  that  it  abounds  in  pleasing  faults.  We 
could  wish  that  he  had  written  from  his  own  mind,  and  under  the  con- 
trol of  another  person's  judgment.  .  .  .  He  would  have  been  honored 
with  the  unanimous  consent  of  the  learned  rather  than  the  admiration 
of  boys.  Yet,  such  as  he  is,  he  ought  to  be  read  by  those  whose  judg- 
ment is  matured,  and  whose  minds  have  been  strengthened  by  a  severer 
manner  of  writing,  if  with  no  other  object  than  that  the  reader  may  ex- 
ercise his  judgment  for  and  against  him. 

xA.nother  brief  extract  recommending  simplicity  and  nat- 
ure, as  against  elaborateness  and  artifice,  will,  with  what  has 
preceded,  suffice  to  indicate  the  wholesomeness  of  this  great 
teacher's  inculcations  on  the  subject  of  literary  style  : 

The  best  words  generally  attach  themselves  to  our  subject,  and  show 
themselves  by  their  own  light ;  but  we  set  ourselves  to  seek  for  words, 
as  if  they  were  always  hidden,  and  trying  to  keep  themselves  from  being 
discovered.  We  never  consider  that  they  are  to  be  found  close  to  the 
subject  on  which  w€  have  to  speak,  but  look  for  them,  in  strange  places, 
and  do  violence  to  them  when  we  have  found  them.     It  is  with  a  more 


Quiiitilian.  295 

manly  spirit  that  Eloquence  is  to  be  pursued,  who,  if  she  is  in  vigor 
throughout  her  frame,  will  think  it  no  part  of  her  study  to  polish  her  nails 
and  smooth  her  hair.  .  .  .  The  best  expressions  are  such  as  are  least  far- 
fetched, and  have  an  air  of  simplicity,  appearing  to  spring  from  truth  itself. 

Quintilian,  as  readers  may  perhaps  already  have  felt  reason 
to  suspect,  is  not  what  one  would  call  a  sprightly  writer.  He 
makes  no  ainbitious  efforts  after  fine  effects.  He  simply  says 
what  he  means.  In  other  words,  he  practices,  himself,  tlie 
sobriety,  and  the  truth  to  fact  and  to  nature,  that  he  preaches 
to  others.  There  are  not  wanting  in  his  work  touches  of 
warmth  and  color — he  is  enthusiastic,  almost  passionate,  some- 
times; but  Quintilian's  prevailing  character  is — sure  good 
sense,  imperturbable  balance,  vision  to  see,  deeply  indeed  not 
seldom,  but  clearly  and  truly  almost  always.  We  describe, 
not  a  brilliant  writer,  but  a  writer  safe  and  wise.  Quintilian 
will  instruct  more  than  he  will  entertain;  but  those  earnestly 
open  to  be  instructed  will  find  also  in  Quintilian  a  various 
^nd  opulent  feast  of  entertainment. 

It  is  cheering,  when,  having  found  a  man's  aesthetic  in- 
stincts good,  you  find  his  moral  instincts  also  good  corre- 
spondingly. Such  is  one's  experience  in  studying  the  literary 
work  of  Quintilian.  Quintilian  stood  for  virtue  in  conduct, 
as  well  as  for  pure  taste  in  literature.  He  says,  and  he  in- 
sists, that  only  a  good  man  can  be  a  good  orator.  This  seems 
noble;  it  is  noble,  and  it  is  morally  inspiring.  Quintilian 
communicates  to  his  readers  a  generous  heat  of  approval  and 
sympathy,  as  he  goes  on  contagiously  maintaining  this  lofty 
thesis  of  his.  But  it  is  easy  to  understand  Quintilian  in  a 
sense  more  favorable  to  his  own  moral  attainment  than  the 
whole  truth  of  his  case  will  warrant.  This  rhetorician's  idea 
of  human  goodness  was  a  sadly  bounded  idea.  It  by  no  means 
escaped  the  (seemingly  unescapable)  limitations  of  the  pagan. 
Judged  by  the  rule  of  Quintilian,  a  man  might  be  a  man 
good  enough  to  be  eloquent,  and  be  but  a  very  indifferently 
good  man  according  to  the  ethics  of  Christianity. 


296  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

We  illustrate  this  statement  of  ours  by  some  citations  from 
the  text  of  Quintilian.  The  author  is  giving  hints  to  advo- 
cates as  to  the  best  ways  of  managing  witnesses  under  exam- 
ination in  the  court-room.  It  will  be  seen  that  he  lets  slip 
professional  secrets,  without  remorse — in  one  word,  blabs 
astonishingly.  Such  frankness  of  teaching  in  a  published 
work  would,  to  a  reputable  author,  now  be  impossible  : 

The  manner  of  questioning  witnesses  remains  to  be  considered.  In 
this  part  of  our  duty,  the  principal  point  is  to  know  the  witness  well ; 
for  if  he  is  timid,  he  may  be  frightened  ;  if  foolish,  misled  ;  if  irascible, 
provoked  ;  if  vain,  flattered  ;  if  prolix,  drawn  from  the  point.  If,  on  tiie 
contrary,  a  witness  is  sensible  and  self-possessed,  he  may  be  hastily  dis- 
missed, as  malicious  and  obstinate  ;  or  he  may  be  confuted,  not  with 
formal  questioning,  but  with  a  short  address  from  the  defendant's  advo- 
cate ;  or  he  may  be  put  out  of  countenance,  if  opportunity  offer,  by  a 
jest ;  or,  if  anything  can  be  said  against  his  moral  character,  his  credit 
may  be  overthrown  by  infamous  charges. 

It  is  no  province  of  ours  to  guess  in  what  degree  the  fore- 
going hints  to  lawyers  may  reflect  practice  still  current  at 
the  bar.  Perhaps  modern  lawyers  bully,  badger,  browbeat, 
confuse,  ensnare,  coax,  wheedle,  mock,  discredit  witnesses, 
as  Quintilian  prompted  the  lawyers  of  his  time  to  do.  We 
have  our  grave  fears  in  the  matter.  But  it  is  at  least  a  gain 
that  no  longer  would  a  writer  of  repute,  like  Quintilian,  put 
himself  in  print  as  teaching  these  reckless  tricks  of  the  lawyer's 
trade.  There  has  been  an  advance.  Pagan  and  Christian 
are  different. 

But  the  difference  has  not  yet  been  full  fairly  illustrated 
from  Quintilian.  Quintilian  has  other  things  to  say  about 
the  treatment  of  witnesses.  We  quote  again — this  time  from 
what  he  suggests  about  the  preliminary  training  of  your  own 
witnesses  for  effective  public  appearance  in  court.     He  says: 

We  must  inquire,  therefore,  what  motives  they  appear  to  have  for  de- 
claring against  our  adversary  ;  nor  is  it  sufficient  to  know  that  they  were 
his  enemies  ;  we  must    ascertain   whether  they   have  ceased  to  be  so  ; 


Qiiiiifi/ian.  297 

whether  they  may  not  seek  reconciliation  with  him  at  our  expense  ; 
whether  they  have  been  bribed  ;  or  whether  they  may  not  have  changed 
their  purpose  from  penitential  feelings  ;  precautions,  not  only  necessary 
in  regard  to  witnesses  who  know  that  which  they  intend  to  say  is  true, 
but  far  more  necessary  in  respect  to  those  who  promise  to  say  what  is 
false.  For  they  are  more  likely  to  repent,  and  their  promises  are  more 
to  be  suspected  ;  and  even  if  they  keep  to  their  word,  it  is  much  more 
easy  to  refute  them. 

Think  of  it — subornation  of  perjury  an  expedient  calmly 
contemplated  by  Quintilian,  as  a  thing  proper  to  give  advice 
about !  But  this  is  low  moral  tone  in  the  author  only  as  tlie 
author  was  involved  in  the  low  moral  tone  of  his  age.  Com- 
pared with  his  own  contemporaries,  Quintilian  was  apparently 
a  good  man.  Theremin,  a  modern  German  preacher,  took  up 
Quintilian 's  principle,  that  the  orator  must  be  a  good  man 
— the  principle  was  Aristotle's  too,  before  it  was  Quintilian's 
— and,  giving  it  a  truly  Christian  scope,  produced  a  remarka- 
ble treatise  on  pulpit  oratory,  entitled  "Eloquence  a  Virtue." 
One  who  compares  this  little  book — it  has  been  translated 
into  English  by  Dr.  Shedd — with  Quintilian's  treatise,  will 
find  in  the  comparison  an  excellent  illustration  of  the  differ- 
ence between  the  "  good  man  "  of  the  Christian,  and  the 
"  good  man  "  of  the  pagan,  ideal. 

We  proceed  now,  as  promised,  to  present  Quintilian's 
characterization  of  the  various  writers,  Greek  and  Roman, 
that  have  been  exhibited  in  these  volumes.  There  is  but 
one  way  to  begin,  and  that  is  the  way  in  which  Quintilian 
himself  began — with  Homer.     Quintilian  says  : 

As  A-ra'tus  thinks  that  we  ought  to  begin  with  Jupiter,  so  I  think  that 
I  shall  veiy  properly  commence  with  Homer  ;  for,  as  he  says  that  the 
might  of  rivers  and  the  course  of  springs  take  their  rise  from  the 
ocean,  so  has  he  himself  given  a  model  and  an  origin  for  every  species  of 
eloquence.  No  man  has  excelled  him  in  sublimity  on  great  subjects,  no 
man  in  propriety  on  small  ones.  He  is  at  once  copious  and  concise, 
pleasing  and  forcible  ;  admirable  at  one  time  for  exuberance,  and  at  an- 
other for  brevity ;  eminent  not  only  for  poetic,  but  for  oratorical  excel- 
13* 


298  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

lence.  To  say  nothing  of  Iiis  laudatory,  exliortatory,  and  consolatory 
speeches,  does  not  tlie  ninth  book  of  the  Iliad,  in  which  the  deputation 
sent  to  Achilles  is  comprised,  or  the  contention  between  the  chiefs  in  the 
first  book,  or  the  opinion  delivered  in  the  second,  display  all  the  arts  of 
legal  pleadings  and  of  councils?  As  to  the  feelings,  as  well  the  gentle  as 
the  more  impetuous,  there  is  no  one  so  unlearned  as  not  to  acknowledge 
that  he  had  them  wholly  under  his  control.  Has  he  not,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  both  his  works,  I  will  not  say  observed,  but  established,  the 
laws  of  oratorical  exordia  ?  for  he  renders  his  reader  well-affected  toward 
him  by  an  invocation  of  the  goddesses  who  have  been  supposed  to  pre- 
side over  poets  ;  he  makes  him  attentive  by  setting  forth  the  grandeur  of 
his  subjects,  and  desirous  of  information  by  giving  a  brief  and  compre- 
hensive view  of  them.  Who  can  state  facts  more  concisely  than  he  who 
relates  the  death  of  Pa-tro'clus,  or  more  forcibly  than  he  who  describes  the 
combat  of  the  Cu-re'tes  and  /Etolians?  As  to  similes,  amplifications, 
illustrations,  digressions,  indications  and  proofs  of  things,  and  all  other 
modes  of  establishment  and  refutation,  examples  of  them  are  so  numer- 
ous in  him,  that  even  most  of  those  who  have  written  on  the  rules  of 
rhetoric  produce  from  him  illustrations  of  their  precepts.  What  perora- 
tion of  a  speech  will  ever  be  thought  equal  to  the  entreaties  of  Priam 
beseeching  Achilles  for  the  body  of  his  son  ?  Does  he  not,  indeed,  in 
words,  thoughts,  figures,  and  the  arrangement  of  his  whole  work, 
exceed  the  ordinary  bounds  of  human  genius?  So  much,  indeed,  that 
it  requires  a  great  man  even  to  follow  his  excellences,  not  with  rivalry 
(for  rivalry  is  impossible),  but  with  a  just  conception  of  them.  But  he 
has  doubtless  left  all  authors,  in  every  kind  of  eloquence,  far  behind 
him. 

Of  Virgil,  Quintilian  speaks  more  briefly: 

As  Homer  among  the  Greeks,  so  Virgil  among  our  own  countrymen, 
presents  the  most  auspicious  commencement  ;  an  author  who  of  all  poets 
of  that  class,  Greek  or  Roman,  approaches  doubtless  nearest  to  Homer. 
I  will  here  repeat  the  very  words  which,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  I 
heard  from  Domitius  Afer,  who,  when  I  asked  him  what  poet  he  thought 
came  nearest  to  Homer,  replied,  Virgil  is  second  to  him,  but  nearer  the 
first  than  the  third.  Indeed,  though  we  must  give  place  to  the  divine 
and  immortal  genius  of  Homer,  yet  in  Virgil  there  is  more  care  and 
cxaclncss,  for  the  very  reason  that  he  was  obliged  to  take  more  pains  ; 
and  for  what  we  lose  in  the  higher  qualities  we  perhaps  compensate  in 
criuability  of  excellence.  All  our  other  poets  will  follow  at  a  great 
distance. 


Quintilian.  299 

We  may  naturally  enough  go,  in  the  Greek  line,  from 
Homer  the  epic  poet,  to  that  Homer  of  prose  and  of  history, 
Herodotus.  But  Quintilian  harnesses  Herodotus  and  Thu- 
cydides  in  a  pair,  to  take  from  him  their  criticism  together 
by  mutual  contrast.     Quintilian  : 

History  many  have  written  with  eminent  reputation  ;  but  nobody 
doubts  that  two  writers  of  it  are  greatly  to  be  preferred  to  all  others  ; 
two,  whose  opposite  excellences  have  gained  nearly  equal  praise.  Thu- 
cydides  is  pithy,  concise,  and  ever  hastening  forward  ;  Herodotus  is 
pleasing,  clear,  and  diffuse;  the  one  excels  in  the  expression  of  animated, 
the  other  in  that  of  milder  sentiments  ;  the  one  in  speeches,  the  other  in 
larrative;  the  one  in  force,  the  other  in  agreeableness. 

Elsewhere,  with  fine,  even  remarkable,  appreciation,  Quin- 
tilian says : 

In  Herodotus,  assuredly,  his  whole  style,  as  I  at  least  think,  has  a 
smooth  flow,  and  the  very  dialect  which  he  uses  has  such  a  sweetness 
that  it  appears  to  contain  within  it  some  latent  rhythmical  power. 

Quintilian,  as  Roman,  feels  patriotically  complacent  over 
the  historians  that  Rome  produced  to  match  with  the  two 
great  historians  of  Greece.  To  those  he  fearlessly  opposes, 
as  equal  competitors,  the  names  of  Sallust  and  Livy : 

In  history,  however,  I  cannot  allow  superiority  to  the  Greeks  ;  I 
should  neither  fear  to  match  Sallust  against  Thucydides,  nor  should 
Herodotus  feel  indignant  if  Livy  is  thought  equal  to  him,  an  author  of 
wonderful  agreeableness,  and  remarkable  perspicuity,  in  his  narrative, 
and  eloquent  beyond  expression  in  his  speeches,  so  admirably  is  all  that 
is  said  in  his  pages  adapted  to  particular  circumstances  and  characters ; 
and  as  to  the  feelings,  especially  those  of  the  softer  kind,  no  historian, 
to  speak  but  with  mere  justice,  has  succeeded  better  in  describing  them. 
Hence,  by  his  varied  excellences,  he  has  equalled  in  merit  the  immortal 
rapidity  of  Sallust. 

Of  Tacitus — as  being  contemporary,  and  perhaps,  in  some 
sense,  disciple,  to  himself — Quintilian  speaks  anonymously, 
but  in  terms  of  high  praise  : 

But  there  still  survives,  and  adds  lustre  to  the  glory  of  our  age,  a  man 
worthy  to  be  remembered  by  the  la!e  .t  posterity,  whose  name  will  here- 


300  College  Lalin  Course  in  English. 

after  be  celebrated  with  honor,  and  is  now  well  understood.  He  has 
admirers,  but  no  imitators,  since  the  freedom  of  his  writings,  though 
some  of  his  expressions  have  been  pi^uned,  has  been  injurious  to  him. 
Even  in  what  remains,  however,  we  may  see  his  lofty  spirit  and  boldness 
of  thought. 

It  is  right  to  say  that  some  have  understood  the  foregoing 
anonymous  eulogy  to  have  Pliny  for  its  subject.  Pliny  was 
distinctly  and  formally  a  pupil  to  Quintilian.  Elsewhere  the 
teacher  refers  to  this  amiable  pupil  by  name,  in  frugal  phrase 
of  judicial  commendation:  "The  elegance  of  Secundus  " — 
five  English  words  representing  two  in  the  Latin.  The 
anonymous  reference,  there  is,  we  think,  little  doubt,  was 
to  Tacitus.  So  this  historian,  it  seems  from  the  hint  of 
Quintilian,  though  bold  even  at  last,  at  first  had  been  bolder. 
He  prudently  retrenched  from  what  he  had  too  audaciously 
written.  What  disclosure  of  shameful  things  untold  may  not 
have  been  quenched  forever  under  that  cloak  of  reticence 
in  Tacitus  ! 

Of  Xenophon,  in  his  character  as  historian,  Quintilian 
seemed  not  to  deem  it  worth  wliile  to  speak.  "  Xenophon," 
he  says,  "  I  have  not  forgotten,  but  he  is  to  be  noticed  among 
the  philosophers."  Xenophon's  style  Quintilian  greatly  ad- 
mired, as  the  following  expression  will  testify : 

Why  need  I  dwell  on  the  sweetness  of  Xenophon,  sweetness  which  is 
unaffected,  but  which  no  affectation  could  attain  ?  so  that  even  the 
Graces  themselves  are  said  to  have  formed  his  style,  and  the  testimony 
of  the  Old  Comedy  concerning  Pericles  rnay  justly  be  applied  to  him, 
that  the  goddess  of  persuasion  was  seated  on  his  lips. 

Caesar,  too,  as  historian,  Quintilian  seems  to  slight  by  not 
mentioning.  This,  however,  is  from  no  lack  of  admiration 
for  Caesar's  literary  genius;  for  on  that  great  man,  as  orator, 
he  has  this  impressive  sentence  of  praise  to  pronounce  : 

As  for  Julius  Cresar,  if  he  had  devoted  himself  wholly  to  the  forum, 
no  other  of  our  countrymen  would  have  been  named  nsa  rival  to  Cicero. 
There  is  in  him  sucli  force,  such  pcrspiciiily,  such  fire,  that  lie  evidently 


Quintilian.  30 1 

spoke  with  the  same  spirit  with  which  he  fought.  All  these  qualities, 
loo,  he  sets  off  with  a  remarkable  elegance  of  diction,  of  which  he  was 
peculiarly  studious. 

Hear  the  dithyrambics  in  prose  with  which  this  calm 
Roman  critic  lauds  the  genius  and  the  style  of  Plato: 

Of  the  philosophers,  from  whom  Cicero  acknowledges  that  he  derived 
a  large  portion  of  his  eloquence,  who  can  doubt  that  Plato  is  the  chief, 
as  well  in  acuteness  of  reasoning,  as  in  a  certain  divine  and  Homer-like 
power  of  language?  For  he  rises  far  above  ordinary  prose,  and  what 
the  Greeks  call  oratio pe-des'h  is,  so  that  he  appears  to  me  to  be  animated, 
not  with  mere  human  genius,  but  with  the  inspiration  as  it  were  of  the 
Delphic  oracle. 

Quintilian  from  Plato  goes  on  to  Aristotle.  This  writer 
he  praises  for  grace  of  style  in  terms  that  what  remains  to  us 
of  Aristotle's  work  seems  hardly  to  justify.     He  says  : 

Why  need  I  speak  of  the  merits  of  Aristotle,  of  whom  I  am  in  doubt 
whether  I  should  deem  him  more  admirable  for  his  knowledge  of  things, 
for  the  multitude  of  his  writings,  for  the  agreeableness  of  his  language, 
the  penetration  shown  in  his  discoveries,  or  the  variety  exhibited  in  his 
works? 

Cicero  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being,  among  all  writers, 
the  confessed  favorite  of  Quintilian.  His  name  is  constantly 
recurring  by  way  of  example  throughout  the  entire  treatise. 
Quintilian  does  not  make  it  part  of  his  plan  to  say  much  of 
Cicero  in  his  distinctive  capacity  as  philosophical  writer. 
Much  in  little,  however,  is  this  single  sentence  :  "  Cicero,  who 
distinguished  himself  on  all  subjects,  stands  forth  in  this  [the 
discussion  of  philosophy]  as  a  rival  to  Plato."  What  more, 
after  the  praise  bestowed  by  him  on  Plato,  could  Quintilian 
have  said  on  behalf  of  his  Tully  ?  The  following  allusion, 
made  swiftly  in  passing,  is  not  without  interest.  Quintilian  is 
recommending  to  the  orator  the  habit  of  composing  in  other 
literary  lines  than  those  of  his  own  particular  profession  : 

The  copious  style  of  history  may  be  tried  with  advantage  for  exercis- 
ing the  pen  ;  and  we  may  indulge  in  the  easy  style  of  dialogues.  Ncr 
will  it  be  prejudicial  to  our  improvement  to  amuse  ourselves  with  verse  ; 


302  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

as  atlileles,  relaxing  at  times  from  their  fixed  rules  for  food  and  exercise, 
recruit  themselves  with  ease  and  more  inviting  dainties.  It  was  from 
this  cause,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  Cicero  threw  such  a  glorious  brilliancy 
over  his  eloquence,  that  he  used  freely  to  ramble  in  such  sequestered 
walks  of  study. 

Quintilian  would  have  the  orator  qualify  his  style  with 
generous  influence  received  from  poetry.  For  this  reason  it 
falls  in  his  way  to  remark  on  the  characteristics  of  most  of 
the  ancient  masters  in  poetical  composition.  We  turn  with 
pleasure  to  the  choir  of  the  poets,  not  indeed  now  to  hear 
them  sing,  but,  what  also  is  delightful,  to  hear  their  singing 
wisely  descanted  upon.  Of  '  The  Poet,'  by  eminence.  Homer 
• — both  because  he  was  the  first  forefather  of  classical  litera- 
ture, and  because  he  was  beyond  comparison  more  command- 
ing than  any  ancient  literary  name  besides — we  allow  Quin- 
tilian to  speak  in  precedence  of  all  other  writers,  and,  as  it 
were,  in  separation  from  them  ;  of  Homer,  and  by  necessary 
association  with  Homer,  of  Virgil.  Lucretius,  by  the  way, 
coupled  with  a  forgotten  name  of  poet,  one  Macer,  is  at- 
tached as  pendent  in  mention  to  Virgil,  from  the  circum- 
stance of  his  using  "  the  same  manner  of  verse  "  as  that  em- 
ployed in  the  .^neid  : 

Macer  and  Lucretius  should  lie  read  indeed,  but  not  in  order  to  form 
such  a  style  as  constitutes  the  fabric  of  eloquence;  each  is  an  elegant 
writer  on  his  own  subject,  but  the  one  is  tame,  and  the  other  difficult. 

Ennius,  in  close  sequel,  is  handsomely  bowed  out  of  pres- 
ence as  follows  : 

Ennius  we  may  venerate,  as  we  venerate  groves  sacred  from  their 
antiquity  ;  groves  in  which  gigantic  and  aged  oaks  affect  us  not  so  much 
by  their  beauty,  as  by  the  religious  awe  with  which  they  inspire  us. 

Ovid  gets  sharp  censure,  correctively  dashed  with  praise  : 

Ovid  allows  his  imagination  to  wanton,  even  in  his  heroic  verse,  and 
is  too  much  a  lover  of  his  own  conceits,  but  deserves  praise  in  certain 
passages. 

"This  great  man,"  elsewhere,  Quintilian  calls  Ovid. 


Qiiiniilian.  303 

Virgil,  however,  was  not  like  Homer,  simply  an  heroic 
poet.  He  was,  in  the  Oeorgics,  didactic  like  Hesiod,  and  in 
his  eclogues,  idyllic  like  Theocritus.  Of  Hesiod,  a  name 
singularly  void  of  other  attraction  than  that  of  antiquity, 
Quintilian  says  : 

As  for  Hesiod,  he  rarely  rises  above  the  general  level,  and  a  great 
part  of  his  poetry  is  occupied  with  mere  names, 

Theocritus  is  very  briefly  dismissed  with : 

Theocritus  is  admirable  in  his  peculiar  style,  but  his  nisfic  and  pasto- 
ral muse  shrinks  not  only  from  appearing  in  the  forum,  but  even  from 
approaching  the  city. 

Quintilian  loves  to  praise  freely,  and  Pindar  affords  him  a 
chance  to  indulge  this  generous  passion  : 

Of  the  nine  lyric  poets,  Pindar  is  by  far  the  chief  in  nobleness  of  spirit, 
grandeur  of  thought,  beauty  of  figures,  and  a  most  happy  exuberance  of 
matter  and  words,  spreading  forth  as  it  were  in  a  flood  of  eloquence  ;  on 
account  of  all  which  qualities  Horace  justly  thinks  him  inimitable. 

Alcffius  also  inspires  Quintilian: 

Alcffius  is  deservedly  complimented  with  a  golden  quill  for  that  part 
of  his  works  in  which  he  inveighs  against  tyrants,  and  contributes  much 
to  the  improvement  of  morals.  In  his  language,  also,  he  is  concise, 
magnificent,  and  careful,  and  in  many  passages  resembles  Homer  ;  but 
he  descends  to  sportive  and  amorous  subjects,  though  better  qualified  for 
those  of  a  higher  nature. 

Simonides  is  favorably  spoken  of: 

Simonides,  tliough  in  other  res]5ecfs  of  no  very  high  genius,  may  be 
commended  for  a  propriety  of  language,  and  a  pleasing  kind  of  sweet- 
ness;  but  his  chief  excellence  is  in  exciting  pity,  so  that  some  prefer 
him,  in  that  particular,  to  all  other  writers  of  the  kind. 

Sappho  receives  no  mention  from  Quintilian. 
Of  Roman  lyric  poets,  Horace  is  pitted  alone,  though  not 
as  a  match,  against  the  nine  lyric  poets  of  Greece  : 

Of  our  lyric  poets,  Horace  is  almost  the  only  one  that  deserves  to  be 
read  ;  for  lie  soars  occasionally,  is  full  of  agreeableness  and  grace,  and 
shows  a  most  happy  daring  in  certain  figures  and  expressions. 


304  College  Latiti  Course  in  English. 

We  have  ascribed  to  Quintilian  a  kind  of  absoluteness  in 
the  sagacity  and  justness  of  his  criticisms.  What  now,  we 
well  may  wonder,  will  thoughtful  readers  say,  when  they  see 
the  strain  of  laudation  in  which  this  sanest  of  writers  pays 
tribute  to  the  poetical  genius  of — whom,  forsooth,  but  that 
imperial  monster,  Domitian!     Quintilian  says: 

The  government  of  the  world  has  diverted  Germanicus  Augustus 
[Domitian]  from  the  studies  which  he  had  commenced,  and  it  did  not 
seem  sufficient  to  the  gods  that  he  should  be  the  greatest  of  poets.  Yet 
what  can  be  more  sublime,  more  learned,  more  excellent  in  all  respects, 
than  the  works  on  which  he  had  entered  in  his  youth,  when  he  gave  up 
his  military  command? 

And  so  on,  through  a  page  of  fulsome  compliment.  We 
are  to  understand  that,  by  tacit  convention  of  writer  with 
reader,  such  expressions  then  meant  exactly  nothing  at  all, 
applied  to  the  case  of  the  reigning  sovereign — nothing  at  all, 
except  a  courtesy  of  usage,  like  your  "  Dear  sir,"  addressed 
to  a  stranger,  addressed  perhaps  even  to  a  man — if  there  were 
such  a  man — whom  you  dislike.  Compare  the  reverend 
translators'  dedication  to  King  James,  of  the  common  ver- 
sion of  the  Bible. 

Quintilian,  next  after  the  preceding,  interposes,  before  go- 
ing to  satire,  a  brief  reference  to  elegiac  poetry.  The  inter- 
position, perhaps,  was  necessary;  without  it,  the  association 
of  ideas  might  have  seemed  too  suggestively  close  between 
satire  and  Quintilian's  extravagant  praise  of  his  emperor. 
Of  satire,  and  of  Lucilius  as  first  satirist,  Quintilian  has  this 
to  say : 

Satire  is  certainly  wholly  our  own  ;  and  Lucilius,  who  first  obtained 
eminent  distinction  in  it,  has  still  admirers  so  devoted  to  him,  that  t'  ey 
do  not  hesitate  to  prefer  him,  not  only  to  all  writei-s  in  the  same  kind  of 
composition,  but  to  all  other  poets  whatever.  For  my  own  part,  I  differ 
from  them  as  much  as  I  do  from  Hprace,  who  thinks  that  Lucilius  runs 
muddy,  and  that  there  is  always  something  in  him  which  you  might  re- 
move ;  for  there  is  in  him  wonderful  learning,  spirit,  causticity  resulting 
from  it,  and  abundance  of  wit. 


Quintilian.  305 

Lucilius,  it  seems,  was  a  "  cult,"  in  Quintilian's  time,  as, 
for  example,  Landor  lately  was,  in  this  country. 

Horace  wins,  as  satirist,  a  word  of  precious  approval  from 
this  supreme  court  of  literary  judicature  : 

Horace  is  far  more  terse  and  pure  in  his  style,  and  eminently  happy 
in  remarking  on  the  characters  of  mankind. 

Juvenal  has  to  make  shift  with  anonymous  and  promis- 
cuous praise — praise  apparently,  at  that,  postponed  to  a 
posthumous  future  : 

There  are  also  excellent  writers  in  that  department  in  our  day,  whose 
names  hereafter  will  be  celebrated. 

Quintilian's  sentence  on  the  Greek  tragic  poets  is  as  just, 
as  it  is  comprehensive  and  summary : 

Tragedy,  /Eschylus  first  brought  before  the  world,  an  author  of  great 
sublimity  and  power,  and  grandiloquent  even  to  a  fault,  but  in  many 
parts  rough  and  unpolished  ;  for  which  reason  the  Athenians  permitted 
the  poets  who  succeeded  him  to  exhibit  his  plays,  when  corrected,  in  com- 
petition for  the  prize  ;  and  by  that  means  many  obtained  the  crown.  But 
Sophocles  and  Euripides  throw  a  brighter  lustre  on  that  kind  of  com- 
position, concerning  whom,  as  their  styles  are  different,  it  is  a  question 
among  many  which  is  the  better  poet.  This  point,  since  it  has  no  rela- 
tion to  my  present  subject,  I  shall,  for  my  own  part,  leave  undecided. 
But  every  one  must  acknowledge  that  for  those  who  are  preparing  them- 
selves for  pleading  Euripides  will  be  by  far  the  most  serviceable  ;  for  in 
his  style  (which  those  to  whom  the  gravity,  and  dignified  step,  and  lofty 
tone  of  Sophocles  appear  to  have  an  air  of  greater  sublimity,  think 
proper  to  censure),  he  approaches  nearer  to  the  language  of  oratory :  he 
abounds  with  fine  thoughts;  in  precepts  of  morality,  such  as  have  been 
delivered  by  the  philosophers,  he  is  almost  equal  to  the  philosophers 
themselves  ;  in  addresses  and  replies  he  is  comparable  to  any  of  those 
who  have  been  distinguished  as  eloquent  speakers  in  the  forum  ;  and  in 
touching  every  kind  of  feeling  he  has  remarkable  power,  but  in  exciting 
that  of  pity  holds  undisputed  pre-eminence. 

There  is  suggested  by  Quintilian  from  among  the  writers 
of  Rome,  no  offset  to  these  names,  that  we  need  here  to  men- 
tion.    Quintilian,  however,  makes  the  transition   easy  from 


3o6  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

tragedy  lo  comedy.  This  is  done  by  bringing  in  Menander, 
the  Greek  original,  as  readers  will  recall,  of  Plautus  and 
Terence,  those  two  chief  playwrights  in  Latin  comedy.  Me- 
nander, so  says  Quintilian  : 

Menander,  as  he  himself  often  testifies,  admired  Euripides  greatly, 
and  even  imitated  him,  though  in  a  different  department  of  the 
drama  ;  and  Menander  alone,  in  my  judgment,  would,  if  diligently  read, 
suffice  to  generate  ail  those  qualities  in  the  student  of  oratory  for  which 
I  am  an  advocate  ;  so  exactly  does  he  represent  all  the  phases  of  human 
life  ;  such  is  his  fertility  of  invention,  and  easy  grace  of  expression ;  and 
so  readily  does  he  adapt  himself  to  all  circumstances,  persons,  and 
feelings. 

Speaking  of  Latin  comedy  and  of  Plautus  and  Terence, 
Quintilian  bates  his  patriotic  breath  and  holds  very  modest 
language: 

In  comedy  we  are  extremely  deficient,  though  Varro  says  that  the 
muses,  in  the  opinion  of  ^lius  Stilo,  would,  if  they  had  wished  to  speak 
Latin,  have  spoken  in  the  language  of  Plautus;  though  the  ancients  extol 
Ctecilius  ;  and  though  the  writings  of  Terence  have  been  ascribed  to 
Scipio  Africanus  ;  and  Terence's  writings  are,  indeed,  extremely  elegant 
in  their  kind ;  yet  they  would  have  had  still  more  gracefulness  if  they 
had  been  strictly  confined  to  trimeter  iambic  verse.  We  scarcely  attain 
a  faint  image  of  the  Greek  comedy,  so  that  the  Latin  language  itself 
seems  to  me  not  susceptible  of  that  beauty  which  has  hitherto  been 
granted  to  the  Attics  only,  since  not  even  the  Greeks  themselves  have 
attained  it  in  any  other  dialect  of  their  language.  Afranius  excels  in 
comedies  purely  Latin  ;  and  I  wish  that  he  had  not  polluted  his  plays 
willi  offensive  amours,  betraying  his  own  character. 

\\\  tribute  to  Quintilian,  it  deserves  to  be  said  that  the 
foregoing  reproach  of  Afranius  but  fairly  suggests  the  moral 
tone  in  which  this  excellent  author  prevailingly  expresses 
himself.  For  example,  Horace,  he  says,  needs  expurgation 
when  taught  to  boys.  Quintilian,  in  short,  as  we  have  already 
suggested,  like  nearly  every  writer  of  the  first  class — for 
Quintilian  in  his  own  chosen  department  of  literature  cannot 
be  denied  his  rank  in  the  first  class  of  writers — was  morally 


Quintilian.  307 

sound  in  his  writings.  Professor  Frieze,  accordingly,  has 
performed  a  fruitful  service,  in  editing,  as  he  has  done,  a 
body  of  judicious  selections  from  Quintilian,  for  use  in 
school  and  college.  The  introduction  prefixed  by  the  editor 
is  an  enlightened  and  entertaining  biographical  and  literary 
appreciation  of  Quintilian. 

Our  author,  as  will  have  been  noticed,  takes  a  wide  range 
in  choice  of  his  subordinate  topics.  But  he  never  forgets 
his  principal  aim,  that  of  making  and  accomplishing  the 
orator.  It  is  consistent  with  this  the  scope  of  his  book,  that 
orators  proper  should  receive  from  him  a  larger  proportion- 
ate share  of  attention  than  other  producers  of  literature. 
We  now  conclude  our  epilogue  drawn  out  of  Quintilian, 
with  some  passages  from  his  work  in  which  he  characterizes 
and  estimates  the  various  orators  of  Greece  and  Rome,  espe- 
cially those  two  chief  of  them,  Demosthenes  and  Cicero; 
more  especially  still,  his  own  compatriot,  and  favorite,  Cicero. 

The  Athenian  orators  in  general  Quintilian  groups  and 
sketches  as  follows : 

A  numerous  band  of  orators  follows,  since  one  age  produced  ten  living 
at  the  same  time  at  Athens  ;  of  whom  Demosthenes  was  by  far  the 
most  eminent,  and  has  been  almost  the  sole  model  for  oratory  ;  such  is 
his  enei-gy,  so  compact  is  his  whole  language,  so  tense,  as  it  were,  with 
nerves,  so  free  from  any  thing  superfluous  ;  and  such  the  general  char- 
acter of  his  eloquence,  that  we  can  neither  find  anything  wanting  in  it, 
nor  anything  superfluous.  ^schines  is  more  copious  and  diffuse  in 
style,  and,  as  being  less  confined  in  scope,  has  more  appearance  of  mag- 
nitude, but  he  has  only  more  flesh  and  less  muscle.  Hyperides  is  ex- 
tremely agreeable  and  acute,  but  better  qualified,  not  to  say  more  serv- 
iceable, for  causes  of  minor  importance.  Lysias,  an  orator  that  pre- 
ceded these  in  time,  is  refined  and  elegant,  and,  if  it  be  enough  for  an 
orator  to  inform  his  hearers,  we  need  not  seek  any  thing  more  excellent 
than  he  is ;  for  there  is  nothing  unmeaning,  nothing  far-fetched,  in  his 
sentences  ;  but  he  is  more  like  a  clear  spring  than  a  great  river.  Isoc- 
rates,  in  a  different  style  of  oratory,  is  neat  and  polished,  but  better 
fitted  for  the  fencing-school  than  for  actual  combat ;  he  assiduously 
courts  every  beauty  of  diction,  and  not  without  reason,  for  he  had  quail- 


3o8  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

fied  himself  for  lecture-rooms,  and  not  for  courts  of  justice  ;  he  is  ready 
in  invention,  and  constantly  aiming  at  embellishment ;  and  so  careful  in 
composition  that  his  care  is  even  censured. 

In  nothing,  perhaps,  is  the  exquisite  balance  of  judicial 
mind  in  Quintilian  more  strikingly  evident  than  in  the  com- 
parison and  contrast  drawn  by  him  between  Demosthenes 
and  Cicero.  If  he  indulges  his  fondness  for  Cicero,  it  shall 
be  at  no  cost  of  injustice  done  to  Demosthenes.     He  says: 

But  our  orators  may,  above  all,  set  the  Latin  eloquence  on  an 
equality  with  that  of  Greece  ;  for  I  would  confidently  match  Cicero 
against  any  one  of  the  Greek  orators.  Nor  am  I  unaware  how  great  an 
opposition  I  am  raising  against  myself,  especially  when  it  is  no  part  of 
my  design  at  present  to  compare  him  with  Demosthenes,  for  it  is  not  at 
all  necessary,  since  I  think  that  Demosthenes  ought  to  be  read  above 
all  o'ther  orators,  or  rather  learned  by  heart.  Of  their  great  excellences 
I  consider  that  most  are  similar ;  their  method,  their  order  of  partition, 
their  manner  of  preparing  the  minds  of  their  audience,  their  mode  of 
proof,  and,  in  a  word,  everything  that  depends  on  invention.  In  their 
style  of  speaking  there  is  some  difference  ;  Demosthenes  is  more  compact, 
Cicero  more  verbose ;  Demosthenes  argues  more  closely,  Cicero  with  a 
wider  sweep  ;  Demosthenes  always  attacks  with  a  sharp-pointed  weapon, 
Cicero  often  with  a  weapon  both  sharp  and  weighty ;  from  Demosthenes 
nothing  can  be  taken  away,  to  Cicero  nothing  can  be  added ;  in  the  one 
there  is  more  study,  in  the  other  more  nature.  In  wit,  certainly,  and 
pathos,  two  stimulants  of  the  mind  which  have  great  influence  in  oratory, 
we  have  the  advantage.  Perhaps  the  custom  of  his  country  did  not  al- 
low Demosthenes  pathetic  perorations  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  dif- 
ferent genius  of  the  Latin  tongue  did  not  grant  to  us  those  beauties 
which  the  Attics  so  much  admire.  In  the  epistolary  style,  indeed,  though 
there  are  letters  written  by  both,  and  in  that  of  dialogue,  in  which  De- 
mosthenes wrote  nothing,  there  is  no  comparison.  We  must  yield  the 
superiority,  however,  on  one  point,  that  Demosthenes  lived  before  Cicero, 
and  made  him,  in  a  great  measure,  the  able  orator  that  he  was;  for  Cic- 
ero appears  to  me,  after  he  devoted  himself  wholly  to  imitate  the  Greeks, 
to  have  embodied  in  his  style  the  energy  of  Demosthenes,  the  copiousness 
of  Plato,  and  the  sweetness  of  Isocrates.  Nor  did  he,  by  zealous  effort, 
attain  only  what  was  excellent  in  each  of  these,  but  drew  most,  or  rather 
all  excellences,  from  himself,  by  the  felicitous  exuberance  of  his  im- 
mortal genius.      He  does  not,  as  Pindar  says,  collect  rain  water,  but 


Quintillan.  309 

overflows  from  a  living  fountain,  having  been  so  endowed  at  his  birlli, 
by  the  special  kindness  of  Providence,  that  in  him  eloquence  might 
'make  trial  of  her  whole  strength.  For  who  can  instruct  a  judge 
with  more  exactness,  or  excite  him  with  more  vehemence?  What 
orator  had  ever  so  pleasing  a  manner  ?  The  very  points  which  lie 
wrests  from  you  by  force,  you  would  think  that  he  gained  from  you  by 
entreaty ;  and  when  he  carries  away  the  judge  by  his  impetuosity,  he 
yet  does  not  seem  to  be  hurried  along,  but  imagines  that  he  is  following 
of  his  own  accord.  In  all  that  he  says,  indeed,  there  is  so  much  author- 
ity, that  we  are  ashamed  to  dissent  from  him  ;  he  does  not  bring  to  a 
cause  the  mere  zeal  of  an  advocate,  but  the  support  of  a  witness  or  a 
judge  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  all  these  excellences,  a  single  one  of  which 
any  other  man  could  scarcely  attain  with  the  utmost  exertion,  flow  from 
him  without  eff"ort  ;  and  that  stream  of  language,  than  which  nothing  is 
more  pleasing  to  the  ear,  carries  with  it  the  appearance  of  the  happiest 
facility.  It  was  not  without  justice,  therefore,  that  he  was  said  by  his 
contemporaries  to  reign  supreme  in  the  courts ;  and  he  has  gained  such 
esteem  among  his  posterity,  that  Cicero  is  now  less  the  name  of  a  man 
than  that  of  eloquence  itself.  To  him,  therefore,  let  us  look ;  let  him 
be  kept  in  view  as  our  great  example  ;  and  let  that  student  know  that 
he  lias  made  some  progress,  to  whom  Cicero  has  become  an  object  of 
admiration. 

But  Quintilian  is  not  carried  away  by  that  veneration  of 
his  for  Cicero;  he  keeps  solidly  on  his  feet.  This,  the  fol- 
lowing lofty  passage  will  show — a  passage,  at  once  sobering 
and  inspiring,  contemplative  of  that  ideal  orator  imagined 
by  Quintilian,  which,  in  Quintilian 's  opinion,  Cicero,  though 
an  orator  so  noble,  never  quite  attained  to  be  : 

Though  I  acknowledge  that  Cicero  stood  at  the  head  of  eloquence, 
.  .  .  yet,  since  he  did  not  claim  to  himself,  though  he  had  no  mean 
opinion  of  his  merits,  the  praise  of  perfection,  and  since  he  might  cer- 
tainly have  spoken  better  if  a  longer  life  had  been  granted  him,  and  a 
more  tranquil  season  for  composition,  I  may  not  unreasonabl}'  believe 
that  the  summit  of  excellence  was  not  attained  by  him,  to  which,  not- 
withstanding, no  man  made  nearer  approaches.  .  .  .  Did  Marcus  An- 
tonius  declare  that  he  had  seen  no  man  truly  eloquent,  though  to  be 
eloquent  is  much  less  than  to  be  a  perfect  orator  ■  does  Cicero  himself 
say  that  he  is  still  seeking  for  an  orator,  and  merely  conceives  and 
imagines  one  ;  and  shall  I  fear  to  say  that  in  that  portion  of  eternity 


3IO  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

which  is  j^et  to  come  something  ma}'  arise  still  more  excellent  than  what 
has  yet  been  seen  ? 

In  the  passage  ensuing,  Quintilian  alludes  to  criticism, 
current  in  his  day,  and  current  still,  on  Cicero's  style.  It 
will  be  observed  that  Quintilian — such  is  his  perfect  judicial 
temper — while  making  answer  to  these  strictures  on  his  fa- 
vorite author  and  orator,  will  not  suffer  himself  by  stress  of 
controversy  to  be  urged  into  any  assertion  or  any  denial  not 
corrected  and  qualified  by  candor : 

But  in  Cicero  we  have  not  merely  an  Eu-phra'nor,  distinguished  by 
excellence  in  several  particular  departments  of  art,  but  one  eminent  in 
every  quality  that  is  commended  in  any  orator  whatever.  Yet  the  men 
of  his  own  time  presumed  to  censure  him  as  tumid,  Asiatic,  redundant, 
too  fond  of  repetition,  indulging  in  tasteless  jests,  loose  in  the  structure 
of  his  sentences,  tripping  in  his  manner,  and  (what  is  surely  very  far  from 
truth)  almost  too  effeminate  in  his  general  style  for  a  inan.  And  after 
that  he  was  cut  oif  by  the  proscription  of  the  triumvirs,  those  who  had 
hated,  envied,  and  rivaled  him,  and  who  were  anxious  to  pay  their  court 
to  the  rulers  of  the  daj'',  attacked  him  from  all  quarters,  when  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  reply  to  them.  But  the  very  man  who  is  now  regarded  by 
some  as  meagre  and  dry,  appeared  to  his  personal  enemies,  his  con- 
temporaries, censurable  only  for  too  flowery  a  style  and  too  much  ex- 
uberance of  matter.  Both  charges  are  false,  but  for  the  latter  there  is 
the  fairest  ground. 

The  sage  and  serene  Quintilian  is  stung  into  stinging  im- 
personal sarcasm,  as  he  proceeds  : 

But  his  severest  critics  were  those  who  desired  to  be  thought  imitators 
of  the  Attic  orators.  This  band  of  calumniators,  as  if  they  had  leagued 
themselves  in  a  solemn  confederacy,  attacked  Cicero  as  though  he  had 
been  quite  of  another  country,  neither  caring  for  their  customs  nor 
bound  by  their  laws  ;  of  which  school  are  our  present  diy,  sapless,  and 
frigid  orators  .  .  .  who,  because  they  cannot  endure  the  brighter  lustre 
of  Cicero's  eloquence,  any  more  than  they  can  look  at  the  sun,  shelter 
themselves  under  the  shade  of  the  great  name  of  Attic  oratory. 

Out  of  the  comparative  narrowness  of  ap])lication  to 
Cicero's   case  in   particular,  Quintilian's  discourse   now  ex- 


Quintilian.  3 1 1 

pands  into  wide  and  wise  general  discussion  of  the  cclel)raled 
critical  distinction  between  Asiatic  and  Attic,  in  literary 
taste  and  style.  This  we  condense  and  show  to  our  readers 
— not  only  for  its  own  intrinsic  interest  and  value,  but  also 
for  the  illustrative  light  that  it  throws  on  Quintilian  himself 
as  a  writer  on  rhetoric.  There  will  be  found  warmth  of 
feeling,  as  well  as  wisdom  of  judgment,  displayed  by  Quin- 
tilian writing  here  as  defender  of  sound  sense  in  literature  : 

The  distinction  between  Attic  and  Asiatic  orators  is  indeed  of  great 
antiquity  ;  the  Attics  being  i-egarded  as  compressed  and  energetic  in 
their  style,  the  Asiatics  as  inflated  and  deficient  in  force ;  in  the  Attics 
it  was  thought  that  nothing  was  redundant,  in  the  Asiatics  that  judg. 
ment  and  restraint  were  in  a  great  measure  wanting.  .  .  .  yEschines.who 
fixed  on  Rhodes  for  his  place  of  exile,  carried  thither  the  accomplish- 
ments then  studied  at  Athens,  which,  like  certain  plants  that  degenerate 
when  they  are  removed  to  a  foreign  climate  and  soil,  formed  a  union  of 
the  Attic  flavor  with  that  of  the  country  to  which  they  were  transplanted. 
The  orators  of  the  Rhodian  school  are  accordingly  accounted  somewhat 
deficient  in  vigor  and  spirit,  though  nevertheless  not  without  force, 
resembling,  not  pure  springs,  nor  turbid  torrents,  but  calm  floods. 

Let  no  one  doubt,  then,  that  of  the  three  styles  [Attic,  Asiatic,  and 
Rhodian  or  Middle],  that  of  the  Attics  is  by  far  the  best.  But  though 
there  is  something  common  to  all  that  have  written  in  this  style,  namely, 
a  keen  and  exact  judgment,  yet  there  are  great  varieties  in  the  characters 
of  their  genius.  Those,  therefore,  appear  to  me  to  be  very  much  mis- 
taken, who  think  that  the  only  Attic  orators  are  such  as  are  simple, 
clear,  expressive,  restricting  themselves,  as  it  were,  to  a  certain  frugality 
in  the  use  of  their  eloquence,  and  always  keeping  their  hand  within  their 
cloak.  For  who  shall  be  named  as  such  an  Attic  orator?  Suppose  it 
be  Lysias  ;  for  the  admirers  of  that  style  recognize  him  as  a  model  of  it. 
.  .  .  Was  Ily-per'ides  Attic  ?  Doubtless.  Yet  he  studied  agreeableness 
of  style  more  than  Lysias.  I  say  nothing  of  many  others.  .  .  .  What 
was  yEschines,  whom  I  just  now  mentioned  ?  Was  he  not  broader,  and 
bolder,  and  loftier  in  style  than  they  ?  What,  to  come  to  a  conclusion,  was 
Demosthenes  ?  Did  he  not  surpass  all  those  dry  and  cautious  speakers,  in 
force,  sublimity,  animation,  polish,  and  structure  of  periods?  Does  he 
not  elevate  his  style  by  moral  observations?  Does  he  not  delight  in 
figures  ?  Does  he  not  give  splendor  to  his  language  by  metaphors  ? 
Does  he  not  attribute,  by  figurative  representations,  speech  to  inanimate 


312  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

objects  ?  Does  not  his  oath  by  the  defenders  of  his  country,  slain  at 
Marathon  and  Salamis,  plainly  show  that  Plato  was  his  master  ?  and 
shall  we  call  Plato  an  Asiatic,  a  man  comparable  in  so  many  respects  to 
the  bards  of  old,  fired  with  divine  inspiration  ?  What  shall  we  say  of 
Pericles?  Shall  we  pronounce  him  similar  to  the  unadorned  Lysias, 
him  whose  energy  the  comic  writers,  even  while  they  ridicule  him,  com- 
pare to  thunder  and  lightning  from  heaven? 

So  comes  out  something  of  that  latent  heat  in  Quintilian, 
for  which,  unexpectedly  finding  it  in  him,  we  like  this  critic 
certainly  not  less.  '  "Attic,"  indeed  ! '  in  substance  he  says  ; 
'must  then  an  orator,  to  be  truly  "Attic,"  resemble  that  Attic 
soil  of  which,  by  an  Attic  poet,  it  was  wittily  remarked,  that 
it  practiced  the  honesty  of  returning  in  harvest  to  the  hand 
of  the  husbandman  exactly  as  much  grain  as  it  had  before 
received  from  the  husbandman's  hand  in  seed  ?  Would 
Demosthenes,  had  he  acquired  certain  excellences  that  he 
lacked,  thereby  have  ceased  to  be  Attic?  Or ' — but  now 
Quintilian's  own  words: 

So,  if  any  one  shall  add  to  the  excellences  which  that  great  orator 
Demosthenes  had,  those  which  appear,  either  naturally  or  by  the  law  of 
his  country,  to  have  been  wanting  to  him,  and  shall  display  in  himself 
the  power  of  strongly  exciting  the  feelings,  shall  I  hear  some  critic  say, 
Demosthenes  never  did  so  ?  Or  if  any  periods  shall  be  produced  more 
harmonious  than  his,  perhaps  none  can  be,  but  still  if  any  should,  will 
it  be  said  that  they  are  not  Attic  ? 

With  admirable  self-recollection — self-recollection  admira- 
ble and  characteristic — Quintilian  suffers  his  fusile  heat  of 
contention  against  his  antagonists  to  decline  now  into  cool, 
calm,  clear  crystallization  of  wisdom  good  for  that  time  and 
good  for  all  time.  Here  is  the  final  summary  sentence — with 
the  citation  of  which,  let  our  gleanings  from  the  field  of 
Quintilian  be  deemed  to  have  been  bound  up  securely  into  a 
sheaf  fitly  clasped  with  a  girdle  of  the  golden  grain  itself: 

To    SPEAK    IN    THE    AtTIC    STYLE    IS    TO    SPEAK    IN    THE 
BEST    STYLE. 


APPENDIX. 


We  count  with  confidence  on  having  among  our  readers 
many  who  will  be  students  as  well  as  readers.  Provision 
is  made  for  these. 

As  in  the  "  College  Greek  Course,"  an  index  is  furnished  of 
proper  names,  with  pronunciation  marked,  and  with  reference 
given  to  the  pages  on  which  the  most  important  matter  con- 
cerning the  topics  thus  indicated  will  be  found.  The  chiefly 
prominent  names  are  printed  in  type  adapted  to  exhibit  their 
prominence  readily  to  the  eye. 

It  is  suggested  to  studious  readers  that  they  will  find  it  a  very 
useful  exercise  to  review  their  reading  with  the  help  of  the 
index,  by  looking  up  all  the  passages  relating  to  the  different 
principal  names  successively,  and — after  this  has  been  done, 
not  during  the  process  of  doing  it — to  set  down  in  writing  the 
results  that  are  left  lodged  in  the  memory.  To  facilitate  the 
accomplishing  of  this  purpose  in  a  way  to  make  a  result- 
ant record  convenient  to  each  reader  for  subsequent  preser- 
vation and  access,  a  few  blank  leaves  are  bound  into  the 
volume  at  the  end.  It  will  be  well  if  these  leaves  be  filled  up, 
not  simply  with  things  remembered  from  the  printed  pages 
preceding,  but  with  things  brought  from  other  sources,  and 
especially  with  things  thought  out  by  the  individual  reader 
for  himself.  It  is  recommended  that  care  be  exercised  be- 
forehand to  divide  up  the  blank  space  provided,  in  some  just 
proportion,  among  the  various  names  to  be  entered.  We 
know  from  our  own  private  correspondence  that  some  enter- 
prising readers  of  the  previous  volumes  have  found  no  little 
14 


314  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

satisfaction  in  the  part  they  have  taken  in  thus  themselves 
helping  make  the  books  that  they  use.  Books  into  which 
you  have  in  some  sense  put  yourself,  become  thereby  precious 
to  you  as  the  years  go  by. 

In  addition  to  the  index  of  names,  we  make  another  pro- 
vision to  aid  students  in  the  business  of  review  and  self-in- 
spection. A  list  of  questions  and  topics  is  given,  germane 
to  the  subjects  discussed  in  the  present  series  of  volumes,  to 
serve  as  stimulants  to  recollection,  to  reflection,  and  to 
further  investigation. 

First,  the  text  in  the  body  of  this  volume  is  supplemented 
with  some  very  brief  notice  of  a  few  minor  names  in  Roman 
literature,  additional  to  those  of  principal  importance  which 
it  was  necessary  to  treat  more  fully. 

A  Roman  poet,  associated  by  the  character  of  his  composi- 
tion, and  mnemonically  by  jingle  of  name,  with  Catullus, 
was  TiBULLUs.  Tibullus  w^as  the  earliest  of  the  Augustan 
authors  whom  we  know  by  their  works.  Catullus  preceded 
him  one  generation.  Tibullus  was  a  lackadaisical  young 
gentleman,  who  lavished  his  love  about  where  it  was  not 
wanted,  and  sentimentally  sang  his  distresses  in  verse.  Prac- 
tically, he  sought  consolation  by  going  each  time  to  a  fresh 
mistress.  He  wrote  elegantly  and  lasciviously;  the  author 
was  such  as  the  man.  He  constitutes  a  kind  of  link  in  litera- 
ture between  Catullus  and  Ovid.  Quintilian  puts  him  at 
the  head  of  Roman  elegiasts,  so-called. 

Propertius  was  a  poet  contemporary  with  Tibullus  and 
with  Horace.  Quintilian  notes  it,  that  in  his  own  day  there 
were  some  who  preferred  Propertius  to  Tibullus.  Propertius, 
too,  was  a  writer  of  love-poems — if  poems  of  lust,  rather  than 
poems  of  love,  such  erotic  effusions  as  those  of  Propertius 
and  his  fellows  were  not  fitlier  called.     His  works  came  near 


Appendix.     ■  315 

being  lost  in  the  Middle  Ages.  One  copy  alone,  found  in  an 
Italian  wine-cellar,  saved  him  from  oblivion — oblivion  that 
^vould,  almost  we  might  say,  have  been  both  friendly  to  him 
and  fortunate  for  us.  Still  Propertius  was  not  without  real 
genius. 

SiLius  Italicus  we  name  simply  to  dismiss  him  as  hardly 
worth  naming.  The  poem  by  which  he  has  sentenced  him- 
self to  an  immortality  of  critical  contempt,  is  a  long  epic  on 
the  Second  Punic  War.  There  was  little  in  the  man  to  win 
merciful  judgment  for  the  poet.  He  lived  in  the  first  Chris- 
tian century. 

Persius  has  enjoyed  a  prodigious  reputation  on  the  strength 
of  six  satires,  produced  by  him  while  a  very  young  man.  If 
we  should  say  that  these  poems  are  far  from  deserving  their 
fame,  we  should  only  be  saying  what  excellent  critics  before 
us  have  freely  said  many  times.  Persius  has  been  kept  up, 
like  a  shuttlecock  between  battledore  and  battledore,  by  the 
opposite  blows  of  mutually  adverse  criticism  concerning  him. 
We  can  at  least  praise  the  man,  whatever  we  think  of  the 
satirist.  Persius  was  a  friend  of  Thrasea,  that  favorite  of 
Tacitus — and  deservedly,  for,  till  his  early  death,  he  kept  a 
stainless  chastity  amid  the  general  profligacy  of  Nero's  evil 
time.  We  could  show  nothing  of  his  satires  that  would 
greatly  interest  our  readers.  Our  readers  would,  however, 
be  greatly  interested  in  studying  the  introduction  by  Profess- 
or Gildersleeve  to  his  edition  of  the  Latin  text  of  Persius — 
certainly  one  of  the  raciest  and  most  stimulating  pieces  of 
editorial  writing  that  we  have  ever  encountered  in  the  litera- 
ture of  classical  scholarship.  Persius  is  sometimes,  but 
seldom,  read  in  college. 

Statius  came  later.  He  flourished  in  the  reign  of  Domi- 
tian.     Statius  was  improvisator  as  well  as  poet.     He  shone 


3i6  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 

on  public  occasions  of  reading  his  own  poetry  aloud.  Such 
practice  on  his  part  helped  give  a  rhetorical,  epigrammatic, 
ambitious  turn  to  the  poem  which,  retiring  into  the  coun- 
try for  that  purpose,  he  spent  twelve  years  in  writing — "  The 
The'ba-id,"  so-called,  his  master-piece,  an  epic  in  twelve 
books,  on  an  incident  in  the  legendary  history  of  Thebes. 
This  holds  its  traditional  place  among  the  second-class  epics 
of  literature.  Statius  was  a  follower  of  Lucan,  as  Lucan  was 
a  follower  of  Virgil,  and  as  Virgil  was  a  follower  of  Homer. 
Virgil  was  artificial  as  compared  with  Homer;  I.ucan  was 
artificial  as  compared  with  Virgil ;  Statius  was  artificial  as 
compared  with  Lucan. 

Martial  was  a  contemporary  of  Statius.  He  was  an  epi- 
grammatist in  verse.  He  studied  point  to  the  sacrifice  of  al- 
most e^/ery  thing  but  point.  Libidinousness,  however,  he  did 
not  have  to  sacrifice,  as  also  libidinousness  he  did  not  have 
to  study;  that  came  naturally  to  him.  "A  man  of  talent, 
acuteness,  and  spirit,  with  plenty  of  wit  and  gall,  and  as  sin- 
cere as  he  was  witty,"  is  Pliny's  characterization  and  tribute. 
Martial  recognizes  and  delineates,  without  disapproval,  the 
same  ethical  features  of  Roman  society  that  excited  to  such 
passion  of  rhetorical  scorn  the  indignant  genius  of  his  contem- 
porary Juvenal.  Juvenal's  frightful  representations  of  Rome 
are  thus  curiously  confirmed  by  Martial  as  substantially 
true, 

Catullus,  Tibullus,  Propertius,  and  Martial,  these  four  by 
eminence,  were  poets  that,  notwithstanding  their  wit,  their 
genius,  and  their  art,  the  world  of  letters  might  lose  without 
loss.  They  had  better  never  have  written.  From  Martial,  the 
most  fecund  producer  among  them,  a  comparatively  innocent 
trifle  given  as  translated  by  Mr.  Simcox  may  serve,  very 
inadequately,  to  show  the  moral  tone  and  the  literary  style  of 
this  writer — favorite  of  so  many  Latinists  that  love  smartness 


Appendix.  3 1 7 

and  do  not  mind  if  the  smartness  be  made  seemingly  smarter 
with  broad,  or  with  equivocal,  leer: 

The  things  which  make  life  pretty  liappy,  my  own  dear  Martial  [name- 
sake to  the  poet],  are  these,  a  property  wiiich  was  left  you  without  your 
working  for  it,  land  that  pays  for  cultivation,  a  hot  dinner  every  day,  never 
a  lawsuit,  very  seldom  a  dress-suit,  a  quiet  mind,  bodily  health,  and  gen- 
tlemanly vigor,  frankness  and  prudence,  equal  friendships,  easy  society,  a 
simple  table,  a  wet  niglit  to  wash  out  cares,  but  not  quite  a  tipsy  one,  a 
wife  who  is  faithful  and  not  strait-laced,  sound  sleep  to  shorten  the  dark- 
ness ;  to  wish  to  be  what  you  are  and  nothing  else  in  the  world  ;  not  to 
be  afraid  of  your  last  day,  nor  to  long  for  it. 

SuLPiciA  is  the  name  of  the  solitary  female  poet  in  Roman 
literature  of  whom  any  fragment  remains.  A  so-called 
satire  of  hers  is  occasionally  bound  up  together  with  the 
satires  of  Juvenal.  Sulpicia  was  a  lady  of  rank,  but  she  too 
was  flagrantly  wanton  in  her  verse.  She  was  of  Martial's 
time. 

Of  Seneca,  as  essayist,  we  present  here  a  specimen  bit 
that  will  be  acknowledged  not  to  lack  a  certain  interest. 
This  morsel  we  take  from  the  text  of  Mr.  Simcox's  "  His- 
tory of  Latin  Literature."  Our  readers  must  not  imagine 
that  they  lose  any  thing  very  important  in  losing  the  proper 
connection  of  the  complete  original  discourse.  Caligula's 
imperial  sentence  on  Seneca  as  writer,  is  condensed  into 
a  pregnant  untranslatable  phrase  composed  of  three  words, 
Harena  sine  cake,  "  Sand  without  lime,"  that  is,  particles  pos- 
sessing no  mutual  cohesion,  sand  not  converted  into  mortar. 
Such  incoherency  is  the  character  of  Seneca's  ambitious  sen- 
tentiousness  in  style. 

In  his  essay  on  "Tranquillity  of  Mind,"  Seneca  says  : 

If  he  [any  private  Roman  citizen]  is  forced  into  the  rear  rank,  still 
there  he  can  shout  and  exhort  and  set  a  soldier's  example  and  show  a 
soldier's  spirit.  Whatever  happens,  you  ought  to  keep  your  stand,  help 
with  your  war-cry  ;  if  your  mouth  is  stopped,  keep  your  stand  and  help 


3i8 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


with  your  silence.  A  good  citizen  always  does  good  service  :  to  see  him, 
to  hear  him,  does  good  ;  his  look  and  gesture,  his  silent  steadfastness, 
his  very  going  by,  does  good.  The  example  of  one  who  keeps  quiet 
well  has  its  use. 

That,  surely,  is  sound  and  good.  Would  you  not  almost 
think  it  was  American  Emerson  speaking  "i 

Of  the  orator  Hortensius— a  figure,  literary  and  social,  so 
considerable  as  he  was  in  his  day — it  seems  a  pity  that  noth- 
ing is  left  to  show,  in  offset  to  the  ample  remains  of  his  gen- 
erous and  more  industrious  friend  and  rival  Cicero.  In  the 
default  of  any  mental  image  of  the  man,  it  may  be  accepted 
by  some  for  a  slight  compensation  if  a  hint  is  afforded,  such 
as  a  picture  may  yield,  of  his  personal  presence : 


HORTENSIUS. 


Appendix.  319 


Questions  and  Topics. 

I.  Compare  the  Greek  with  the  Roman  national  charac- 
ter, as  these  are  exhibited  respectively  in  the  two  national 
literatures. 


2.  Account  for  it  that  a  great  ruling  race  like  the  Ro- 
man should  have  been  contented  to  follow  so  closely  foreign 
originals  in  its  literature  and  its  art. 


3.  What  was  it  in  the  national  genius  that  kept  Greece 
from  seeking  to  found  empire  by  conquest  beyond  the  bounds 
of  Hellas  itself.? 


4.  Was  Alexander  the  Great  an  exception  in  this  respect 
among  Greeks ;  or  did  his  foreign  conquering  spirit  show 
him  to  have  been  not  properly  Greek  } 


5.  Distinguish  the  properly  Greek  from  the  properly  not- 
Greek  elements  in  Alexander's  character. 


6.  Is  there  a  reciprocal  influence  exchanged  between  a 
nation's  literature  and  that  nation's  character  and  life.'*  If 
so,  state  the  law  governing  such  influence. 


7.  Which  national  genius,  the  Greek  or  the  Roman,  was 
more  self-conscious  in  its  literature.'* 


320  College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


8.  Which  national  genius  was  more  sound  and  genuine  in 
its  literary  self-consciousness? 


9.  How  far  is  literary  art  possible   without  literary  self- 
consciousness  on  the  part  of  the  artist  ? 


10.  What  was  the  influence  on  literature  of  tljte  imperial 
system  founded  by  Csesar  ? 


II.  Define   the   limits   within    which  wealth   in    a  nation 
fosters  in  that  nation  the  development  of  literature. 


12.  Define  civilization. 


13.  To  which  influence,  that  of  Greece  or  that  of  Rome,  is 
Christian  civilization  more  deeply  indebted  .'* 


14.  What  parts  respectively  do  literature  and  science  play 
in  the  advancement  of  civilization .'' 


15.  Would  it  be  true  to  say  that  science  exerts  its  civiliz- 
ing influence  chiefly  by  dealing  with  the  relations  between 
man  and  nature,  whereas  literature  exerts  its  civilizing  in- 
fluence chiefly  by  dealing  with  the  relations  between  man 
and  man? 


Appendix.  321 

16.  If  so,  which  civilizing  influence,  that  of  science,  or  that 
of  literature,  should  be  more  direct  and  more  powerful  ? 


17.  Compare  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  the  men. 

18.  Compare  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  the  statesmen, 

19.  Compare  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  the  orators. 

20.  Both  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  struggled  against  po- 
litical tendencies  that  were  destined  to  prevail;  were  they 
unwise  in  doing  this  ? 


21.  The  Roman  literary  influence  was  dominant  in  English 
literature  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago — the  Greek  is  dom- 
inant now ;  is  it  likely  that  there  will,  by  and  by,  be  a  return 
to  the  former  fashion  ? 


22.  To  what  extent  do  the  examples  supplied  by  Greece 
and  Rome  give  countenance  to  the  theory  that  the  literature 
of  a  people  receives  its  type  from  geographic  and  climatic 
influences? 


23.  To  what  extent  does  satire  exert  a  practical  correcting 
and  reforming  influence  on  morals  and  manners  ? 

24.  Distinguish  between  the  satire  and  the  lampoon. 
14* 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


25.  Explain  why  the  novel  should  not  have  had  a  freer  and 
fuller  development  in  the  ancient  Greek  and  Roman  world. 


26.  Compare  with  one  another  Thucydides,  Sallust,  Tacitus. 


27.  What  distinguishes  the  philosophical  from  the  merely 
narrative  historian  } 


28.  What  different  qualifications  are  required  in  the  histo- 
rian who  writes  at  second-hand  from  those  required  in  the 
historian  writing  from  personal  knowledge  ? 


29.  What  support  does  the  example  of  Greek  tragedy  lend 
to  the  idea  that  the  dramatist  must  write  without  ethical 
purpose,  merely  to  represent  human  character  and  life? 


30.  For  the  practical  conduct  of  life,  which  study  is  likely 
to  be  more  useful  to  the  average  man  or  woman,  the  study  of 
the  classics  or  the  study  of  physics  }    Why } 


31.  In  which  world  would  you  choose,  on  the  whole,  to 
have  had  cast  your  lot  in  life,  the  world  of  ancient  Athens  or 
the  world  of  ancient  Rome  ? 


32.  Whence  came  the  influence  that  makes  Christian  civili- 
zation other  and  better  than  the  civilization  of  Athens,  and 
of  Rome — was  it  from  heaven  or  of  men  } 


INDEX. 


Ac'te,  85,  86. 

Ad'di-son,  Joseph  (1672-1719),  272. 

.^-ne'id,  302. 

./Es'chi-nes  (B.  C.  389-314),  307,  311. 

jEs'chi-nus,  144-153. 

vEs'chy-lus  (B.  C.  52S-456)>  3oS- 

A-fra'ni-us,  306.  ■* 

A-gric'o-la  (S7-93),  65. 

A-grlp'pa,  Marcus,  97,  98. 

A-GRIP.PI'NA     (i5?-6o),     77-82,    86-92, 

100. 
Al-cs'us  (fl.  B.  C.  611?),  189,  303. 
Al-ci'des,  206. 
Al-ex-an'der  the  Great  (B.  C.  356-323),   26, 

57,  212,  224,  247. 
Alps,  26,  27,  30,  31,  32,  225. 
Am-pe-lis'ca,  131,  141. 
An-i-ce'tus,  87,  89,  90,  99,  100. 
Ann  Arbor,  126,  143,  144. 
An-ti'o-chus  (B.  C.  237-187),  60,  72. 
An-tip'a-ter,  268,  269. 
An-ti-um,  34,  86,  87,  102,  103,  105. 
An-to'ni-us   (Antony),  Marcus    (B.   C.  83- 

30),  72,  73,  223,  2^9,  240. 
A-pel'les  (fl.  330  BfC),  212. 
Aph'ro-di'te,  200. 
A'pis,  70. 
A-ra'tus,  297. 

Ar-chil'o-chus  (B.  C.  7i4.'-676),  178. 
Arc-tu'-rus,  127-8. 
A-ris-ti'des  (B.  C.  —  468?),  267. 
A-ris-toph'a-nes    (B.    C.     444?-38o?),    123, 

261. 
Ar'is-tot'le  (B.  C.  384-322),   247,  257,  258, 

293.  297>  301- 
Ar-pi'num,  230. 
Ar'ri-a,  121. 

Ars  Po-et'i-ca  (.-Vrt  of  Poetry),  204. 
Ath'ens,    no,   128,    154,  172,   178,  211,    -12, 

223,  233,  241,  250,  258,  261,  269,  31;, 
A-til'i-us,  Lu'ci-us,  54. 
Atterbury,  Bishop  (i662-i732\  108,  log. 
AT'TI-CL'S,  Titus  Pompcnius  (B.  C.  109- 

32),  233,  242,  243,  24s,  2.^8,  254. 
Au'fi-dus,  4Q,  50,  194. 
.\U-GUS'TU8,  CKsar  (63  B.  C.-14  A.  D.), 

64-   77.  93i  97i  98.  i75i  177.  178,  183.    200, 

201,  207,  241. 
.'Vugustus,  Epistle  to,  205,  206. 
.Aus'ter,  195. 
Australia,  218. 

Baal,  169. 
Bai'ae,  87. 


Bal'bus,  244. 

Bar-gi-o'ras,  John,  73. 

Bengal  (Ben-gawl'),  193. 

Bernini,  "  The  Cavalier  Bernini,"    Italian 

artist  (1598-1680),  213. 
Bi-bac'u-lus,  Furius,  54. 
Bi-thyn'i-a,  61,  276. 
Bo-a-di-ce'-a  (I3ou-di-c<--a),  (—  62),  95. 
Boc-cho'ris,  60. 
Britain,  67,  206. 
Bri-tan'ni-cus,  80,  81,  82,  87. 
Brothers,  The,  143. 
Brodribb  (Church  and),  48. 
Brun-du'si-um,  238. 
Brutus,  Mar'cus  (B.  C.  85-42),  266. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen  (1794-1878),  231. 
Burke,  Edmund  (1729  or  1730-1797),  272. 
Bur-rus,  A-fra'ni-us,  77,  79,  81,  82,  89,   91, 

93,94,96. 
Burns  (1759-1796),  202. 
Byron,  Lord  (;i788-i824),  154,  252. 

Ca/diz,  14,  2i8. 

Cx-cil'i-us,  306. 

Cae-ci'na,  Tuscus.  82. 

Cse'li-us,  27. 

Cae'sar,  Cai'us  (Caligula),  (12-41),  77. 

Cae'sar,  Clau'di'us  (10  B.  C.-54  A.  D.),  64, 

72,  77,  79,  91,  98,  100. 
Cae'sar,  Ju'li-us  (1!.  C.  100-44),  9°i  '55i  '7^i 

186,  222,  2;;7,  239,  243,  251,   254,  255,  262, 

26^,  266,  274,  300. 
Ca-lig'u-la,  Ca'ius  Cae'sar,  64,  72,  317. 
Cal-pur'ni-a,  287. 
Ca'ni-us,  Cai'us,  270,  271. 
C  V.\'IV.E,  49,  53,  59,  226. 
Ca'pre-ae,  221. 
Cap'u-a,  34. 
CARTHAGE.  20,  25,  32,  58,  60,  123,  170, 

196, 197,  225. 
Car'tha-lo,  4:5,  53,  58. 
Cas'sius,  Baroa,  244. 
Castor  and  Pollux,  206. 
Cat'i-line,  229,  237. 
Ca'to,    Mar'cus,  the  Elder  (B.  C.  234-149), 

14,  21,  190,  253,  272,  273. 
Ca'to,  ftlar'cus,  the  Younger  (B.  C.  95-46), 

246. 
Ca-tul'lus  (B.  C.  87-47),  184,  185,  244,  314, 

316. 
Centaurs,  201. 
Cer'vus,  203. 
Ce-the'gus,  229. 
Charles  XII.  (1682-1718),  226. 


324 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


Char'mi-des,  134. 

FA'BI-US,   Quintiis   Maximus  (Cunc-ta'- 

Charon,  186. 

tor),  (B.  C.  —  203?),  20,  25,  38,  39-50,  53, 

Chesterfield  (Lord),  (1694-1773),  223,  242. 

56,  253,  260. 

Childe  Harold,  252. 

Fa'bi-us  Rus'ti-cus,  81,  82,  86. 

Chi-mse'ra,  201. 

Fe'lix,  An-to'ni-us,  72. 

Chlo'e,  lyS. 

F"la-min'i-us,  35,  36,  38,  39,  41,  50. 

Choate,  Rufus  (1799-1859),  240. 

F'hini'i-ni'nus,  61. 

Chce'ri-lus,  212. 

Fon-tei'us.  Cai'us,  85. 

Christus  (Jesus),  107. 

Francis,   Dr.    Philip   (died   1773),    179 

186, 

Church  and  Brodribb,  48,  276,  282. 

205. 

Cic'e-ro,  Mar'cus,  258,  261,  264. 

Frieze,    Prof.   Henry   S.   (living),    177, 

180, 

CIC'B-HO,  Mar'cus  Tul'li-us  (B.  C.  106- 

307. 

43)1  iSSi  222,  223,  224,  230-274,    277,    293, 

Froude,  James  Anthony  (living),  247, 

^^%. 

301,  302,  307-310,  318. 

Fus'cus,  278. 

Cic'e-ro,  Quin'tus,  254-257. 

Cle-o-pa'tra,  72,  186. 

Ga'des  (Cadiz),  14,  227. 

Clive,  Lord  (1725-1774),  193,  194. 

Gal'ba  (B.  C— 69  A.  D.),  75. 

Clu/si-um,  16. 

Gan'ges,  218. 

Clu'yi-us,  82,  86. 

Garrick,  David  (1716-1779),  224. 

Collins  (living),  16,  235,  236,  238,  255. 

George  IL  (1683-1760),  205. 

Colman,  George  (i733?-i704),  143. 

Ger-man'i-cus  (14  15.  C.-19  A.  D.),  79, 

89. 

Como,  Lake,  286. 

Ger-man'i-cus  Au-gus'tus  (Domitian), 

304. 

Conington    (Professor),    (lately    deceased). 

Ge'ta,  147. 

180,  181,  202. 

Gifford,  William  (1756-1826),  218,  223, 

224. 

Congreve,  William  (1670-1729),  230. 

Gildersleeve,  Prof,  (living),  315. 

Cor'bu-lo,  94,  loi,  103,  121. 

Gri'pus,  136,  142. 

Cor'neille  (1606-1684),  211. 

Grac'chi  (ft.  2d  century,  B.C.),  63. 

Cor-ne'li-a  (fl.  2d.  century  B.  C),  63. 

Gray,  Thomas  (1716-1771),  202. 

Cowper,  William  (1731-1800),  187,  188. 

Greece,  59,  125,  154,  155,  160,  170,  210 

>  223, 

Cotter's  Saturday  Night  (Burns's),  202. 

241,  299,  303,  307,  308. 

Crassus,  222. 

Croe'sus.  229. 

Hallam,  Arthur  Henry  (1811-1833),  179 

. 

Ctes'i-pho,  145. 

Ham-il'car,  23,  24. 

Cur'ti-us,  Mar'cus,  19. 

Hammon,  69,  70. 

Cyn'a-ra,  199. 

HAI\IVIBAL.  (B.  C,  247-183),  20-62, 

226. 
Hanno,  143. 

224- 

Dxm'o-nes,  128-142. 

Dante  (1265-1321),  173. 

Has'dru-bal,  23,  24,  43,  51,  52. 

Del'li-us,  186. 

Hastings,  Warren  (1732-1818),  193,  194 

De'me-a,  144,  153. 

He'gi-o,  145. 

De-me'tri-us,  121. 

Hel-vid'i-us,  121. 

De-moc'ri-tus  (B.  C.  46o>-36i?),  219. 

Henry  (King),  96,  206. 

DE-MOS'THE-IVES  (B.  C.  385?-322),  26, 

Her-a-cli'tus  (fl.  500  B.  C),  219. 

222,  307,308,  311,  312. 
Dennis,  John  (1657-1734),  213. 

Her-cu-la'ne-um,  276. 

Her'od,  73. 

De  Rerum  Natura,  156-173. 

He-rod'o-tus  (B.  C,  484?-420?),  299. 

Di-og'e-nes  of  Babylon,  268,  269. 

He'si-od  (fl.  800?  B.  C),  303. 

Dion  Cassius  (155?  — ),  234. 

Hes'per-us,  199. 

Diph'i-lus,  128,  131,  144. 

Hi'e-ro,  49. 

Disraeli  (Diz-ra'lee),  Isaac  (1766-1848),  15. 

Hi-e-ro-sol'y-ma,  69. 

Do-mi'tian  (5i?-96),  65,  285,  304,  315. 

Hodgson.  Francis  (i78i-i8i;2\  225. 

Do-mi'tius,  A'fer,  298. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  (living),  188, 

189. 

Dream  of  f'air  Woman  (Tennyson's),  186. 

Ho'mer  (fl.  about  1000  B.C.),  228,   240, 

297. 

Dru-sil'la,  72. 

298,  299,  302,  303,  316. 

Dryden,  John  (1631-1700),  210,  211. 

Hor'ace  (B.  C.  65-8),  173,  214,  303,  306 
Hor'ten'sius,  318. 

314- 

El-e-a'zar,  73,  74. 

Hy-per'i-des,  307,  311, 

E-li'jah,  i6g. 

En'ni-us   (B.   C.   2397-169),  260,   262,    263, 

Ic'a-rus,  200. 

302. 

I-dae'i,  69. 

F,-pich'a-ris,  108. 

EP-l-CU'RUS  (B.  C.  342-270),  157,  160. 

Essay  on  Criticism  (Pope  s),  205. 

Il'i-ad,  298. 

In  Memoriam  (Tennyson's),  172,  179. 

Iph-i-ge-ni'a,  161. 

Eu-phra'nor,  310. 

Irving,  Edward  (1792-1834),  234. 

Eu-rip'i-des  (B.  C.  480-406),  305. 

Irving,  Washington  (1783- i8s9),  234. 

Eu'rus,  192. 

I'sis,  69. 

Index. 


3?5 


I-soc'ra-tes  (B.  C.  436-338),  308. 
Italy,  26,  31,  32,48,  50,  56,  57,60,  62,67,  125, 
179,  231,  238,  250. 

Ja'nus,  212. 

Jeans,  G.  F..  (living),  242,  243,  245,  246,  249, 

250,  252,  255. 
Je-rome',  St.  (345?-42o),  172. 
Je-ru'sa-lem,  68,  71-74- 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel  (1709-1784),  217,  218, 

221-228. 
Jonson,  Ben  (1574-1637),  199. 
Ju-dae'i,  69. 
Ju'das,  69. 
Ju'li-a,  100. 
Ju'no,  34. 
Ju  pi-ter,  26,  34,  5S,  62, 69, 102, 110, 121, 169, 

297. 
JU'VE.\-AL    (fl.    100),   100,  215-231,  282, 

305,  316,  317. 

Kneller,  Sir  Godfrey,  German  portrait- 
painter  in  England  (1648-1723),  212. 

La'brax,  130-142. 

La-er'tes,  228. 

Lae'li-us,  273. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage  (1775-1864),  305. 

Lat-e-ra'nus,  219. 

Laurence,  Mr.,  1S3. 

Len'tu-lus,  Cne'i-us  Cor-ne'li-us,  53. 

Lep'i-dus,  86. 

Li'-ber,  Father,  71. 

Lil-y-bae'um,  235. 

LIV'Y  (59  B.  C.-I7  A.  D.),  13-63,  64, 66,  68, 

75,  121,  196,  276,  277,  299. 
Lon-din'i-um  (London),  94. 
Lon-gi'nus  (213  "'-273),  2i8- 
Lowell,  James  Russell  (living),  157,  283. 
Lu'can  (39-6S),  292,  316. 
LU-CIL'I-US  (B.   C.   i48>-io3),  215,  245, 

304,  305- 
Lu'ci-us,  Pau'lus,  253. 
LU-CRE'TI-US   (Titus  Lucretius  Cams), 

39-  154-173.  302- 

Luther,  Martin  (1483-1546),  257. 

Lyd'i-a,  198. 

Lyd'i-at,  Thomas  (1572-1646),  famous  En- 
glish scholar  and  philosopher,  imprisoned 
for  debt,  but  when  dead  honored  with  a 
monument,  224. 

Lys'i-as  (B.  C.  458-378),  307,  311,  312. 

Ly-sip'pus,  212. 

Lytton,  Sir  E.  Bulwer  (1805-1873),  180. 

Macaulay  (Lord),  16,  66,  103,  185,  223,  226. 

Ma'cer,  302. 

M«-CE'XAS,  Cai'us  (70?  B.  C.-8  A.  D), 

97,  98,  105,  175,  177,  178,  194. 
Ma'go,  51. 
Ma-har'bal,  51,  54. 

Mallock,  W.  H.  (living),  159,  160,  162,  170. 
Ma-mur'ra,  244. 
Man-ci'nus,  42,  43. 
Mar'a-thon,  312. 
Mar-cel'lus,  Cai'us,  249. 


Mar-cel'lus,  Mar'cus,  248-250,  254. 

Marie  .'\ntoinette  (1755-1793),  99- 

Ma'ri-us,  Cai'us  (B.  C.  157-86),  15,  229 

Marlborough  (1650-1722),  228. 

Mars  (and  Mayors),  34,  158,  200. 

Martial  (43-104),  316,  317. 

Martin,  Theodore  (living),  179-203  fre- 
quently. 

Mather,  Cotton  (1663-1728),  181. 

Maurice,  F.  D.  (1805-1872),  184. 

Meg'a-ra,  251. 

Melbourne,  University  of,  218. 

Melnioth,  William,  252. 

Mel-pom'e-ne,  195. ' 

Mem'mi-us,  loi,  158,  166,  167. 

Menander  (B.  C.  342-291),  123-125,  131,  154, 
306. 

Merivale  (Dean),  (living),  2S3,  285. 

Me-tel'lus,  Lucius  Cae-cil'i-us,  55. 

Michigan,  University  of,  126,  177. 

Micio,  144-153. 

Middleton  (1683-1750),  245,246. 

Milton  (1608-1674),  156,  173,  181-184,  203. 

Minerva,  34,  87,  92. 

Mi-nu'ci-us,  Marcus  Rufus,  40,  49,  54. 

Mi-se'num,  87,  90,  277. 

Mith-ri-da'tes  (B.  C.  i32?-63),  228,  237. 

Mit-y-le'ne,  97. 

Mommsen,  Tneodor  (living),  57,  60,  62,  63. 

Mon-ta'nus,  Julius,  83 

Mo'y-ses  (Moses),  69,  70. 

Mu'ci-us,  16. 

Munro  (lately  deceased),  157,  158,  165,  167. 

Naples,  49,  277. 

Nassau  (William  IIL  of  Eng.),  (1650-1702), 

213. 
Ne-ap'o-Iis  (Naples),  91,  104. 
IVE'RO  (37-68),  64-67,  76-121. 
Nes'tor,  228. 

OC-TA'VI-A,  78,  81,  85,  99,  100. 
O-dys'seus,  240. 
O-Iym'pus,  170. 
Or'cus,  201. 
O-ri'on,  190. 
Os'ti-a,  106. 
O'tho,  84,  88. 

Otway,  Thomas,  dramatist  (1651-1685),  211. 
Ov'id  (43  B.  C.-18  A-  D.),  194,  228,  238,  302, 
3'4- 

Pa-lxs'tra,  130-142. 

Pal'las  Ath-e'ne,  86,  240. 

Pam'phi-la,  145. 

Pa-ns'ti-us,  263. 

Pa-pir'i-us,  Mar'cus,  18. 

Pa-ta'vi-um  (Padua),  14. 

Pa-tro'clus,  298. 

Paris,  81. 

Paul  (the  apostle),  170,  2i;4,  261,  266. 

Pau'lus,  Lu'ci-us  jE-mil'i-us  (Max'i-mus), 

(B.  C.  23o?-i6o),  49,  50-53,  109. 
Pcabodv    George,  the  philanthropist  (1795- 

1869),  2S6,  287. 
Peabody,  Dr.  A.  P,  (living),  242. 


326 


College  Latin  Course  in  English. 


Pe-H'des,  183. 

Sar-dan-a-pa'lus  (fl.  900?  B.  C),  230. 

Pe'li-as,  273. 

S.it-ur-na'li-a,  243,  244. 

Pe'leus,  228. 

Scaev'o-la,  17. 

Pe'lops,  183,  190. 

Saul  of  Tarsus,  291. 

Per'i-cles,  300,  312. 

Sce-par'nio,  129-134. 

Per'si-us  (34-62),  215,  315. 

SCIP'I-O,   Africanus   Major  (B.C.  235?- 

Pierce,  Captain  Henry  H.,  180. 

184?),  26,  27,  54,  55,  60-63,    83,   264,  265, 

Pin'dar  (B.  C.  522?-440?),  200,  303. 

273.  306. 

Pi'so,  Cai'us,  iii. 

Scip'i-o,  Africanus  Minor  (B.  C.  185  ?-i29). 

Pi'so,  Lu'ci-us,  249 

123,  143- 

Pisos,  The,  204,  205. 

Scip'i-o,  Lucius,  62,  63. 

Philip  (of  Macedon),  (B.  C.  382-336),  212. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (1771-1832),  179. 

Phi-lip'pi,  176. 

Se-ja'nus,  220-222. 

Philips,  Ambrose,  dramatist  and  poet  (1671  ?- 

Sellar,  W.  Y.  (living),  169. 

1749),  214. 

Se-leu'cus,  singer,  227. 

Phi'lus,  Pub'li-us  Fu'ri-us,  55. 

Sem-pro'ni-us,  41,  50. 

.SEIV'E.CA,  AN-rS^'US   (5?B.  C.-65  A. 

Pi-Ia'tus  (Pilate),  Pon'ti-us,  107. 

Pi-rae'us,  250,  251. 

D.),  14,  77-79,  82,  86,  89,  91-110,  219,  292- 

Pla'to  (B.  C.  429?-348?),  241,  261,  266,  272, 

294,  317. 

30T,  30S,  312. 
PLAli'TUS,  Ti'tus  Mac'ci-us  (B.  C.  254?- 

Se-re'nus,  An-nae'us,  78. 

Ser-to'ri-us,  208. 

184),  81,  82,  122-143,  260,  306. 

Settle,  Elkanah  (1648-1723),  English  author, 

Ples-i-dip'pus,  128,  129. 

once  famous,  213. 

Plin'y,  the  Elder  (23-79),  275. 

Ser-vil'i-us,  Ge-min'i-us,  51. 

PLliVY,  the  Younger   (6i?-ii5?),  64,  82, 

Ser-vil'i-us,  Cne'i-us,  54. 

231,  239,  274-291,  300. 

Shakespeare  (1564-1616),  211. 

Plu'tarch  (49?-i2o?),  208. 

Shedd,  Dr.  W.  G.  T.  (living),  297. 

Poe'nu-lus,  142. 

Shelley  (1792-1822),  288. 

Pol'li-o,  Julius,  80. 

Shore,  Mr.,  103. 

Po-lyb'ius  (B.  C.  204?-i22  ?),  32,  33. 

Si-cam'bri-ans,  201. 

Pom-pe'i-i  (-pe'yi),  102,  276. 

Sil'i-us  I-tal'i-cus  (25-101),  315. 

POM'PE  Y  (Cne'ius  Pom-pei'us)  (B.C.  106- 

Simcox,  G.  A.  (living),  316,  317. 

48),  72,  73,  127,  222,  229,  233,  237,  239. 

Si-mon'i-des  (B.  C.  556?-467),  303. 

Pom-po'ni-us,  Mar'cus,  38. 

Skinner,  Cyriack,  183. 

Pope,  Alexander  (1688-1744),  206-213. 

Smart,    Christopher  (1722-1770),    180,   206, 

POP-P.«'A,  84,  8s,  99-102. 

212. 

Por'se-na  (Por-sen'na),  16. 

Soc'ra-tes  (B.  C.  470?-399),  109. 

Pos-tu'mi-us,  Publius,  250. 

Sol'o-mon,  293. 

Princess,  The  (Tennyson's),  224. 

So'lon  (B.  C.  638?-558?),  229. 

Prog'ne,  228. 

Soph'o-cles  (B.  C.  49S?-4o6?)  303. 

Pri'am,  228,  298. 

Sos'tra-ta,  145. 

Pro-me'theus,  190. 

Spu-rin'na,  Ves-tri'ci-us,  283,  284. 

Pro-per'ti-us  (B.  C.  51-17?),  314,  316. 

Sta-ti-us,  An-nse'us  (61-98?),  no,  315. 

Pros'er-pine,  189. 

Sti'lo,  ^'li-us,  306. 

Pru'si-as,  61. 

Stuart,  Prof.  Moses  (1780-1852),  195. 

Ptol'e-mo-cra'tia,  133. 

Su'bri-us,  Fla'vus,  no. 

Pul-tow'a,  226. 

Sul'la  (Sylla),  15. 

Pu-te'o-li,  235,  244. 

Sul-pi'ci-us,  Ser'vi-us  Ru'fus,  249-252. 

Pyr'-en-ees,  225. 

Sul-pic'ia,  317. 

Py-thag'o-ras  (B.  C.  58o?-5oo?),  104. 

Syn-ap-o-thnes-con'tes    (Greek    participle, 

Pyth'i-us,  270,  271. 

"  Mated  in  Death  "),  144. 

Sy'rus,  147-154. 

Quarles,  Francis,  poet  (1592-1644),  213. 

Swift  (Dean),  (1667-1745),  228. 

Quincy,  Josiah  (1772-1864),  283. 

(Juinc-til'i-us,  185. 

TAC'I-TUS,  Caius  Cornelius  (55?-ii8?), 

aUIXTILIAlV  (Marcus  Fabius  Quin'til-i- 

33,  49,  64-121,  215,  275,  276,  283-287,  292, 

a'nus)  (42  ?-i  18  ?),  275,  291-312,  314. 

293.  2Q9,  300,  315. 

Ta-ren'tum,  198. 

Racine  (1639-1699),  211. 

Tennyson,  Alfred  (living),  95,  172,  179,  184, 

Re^'u-lus  (B.  C.  d.  250?),  loi,  196. 

186,  2or. 

ROME,  frequently  throughout. 

TER'ENCE  (Te-ren'ti-us  Pub'li-us  A'fer), 

Rom'u-lus,  igo,  206. 

(B.  C.  193  ?-i59?),  122-154,  306. 

Rudens,  127. 

Te-ren'tia,  233,  234. 

Te-ren'ti-us,  Cai'us,  56. 

Sallust  (B.  C.  86-34),  299. 

Sap'pho  (fl.  600  ?  B.  C),  188,  200,  303. 

Than-a-top'sis,  231. 

The'ba-id,  The,  316. 

Index. 


327 


The-mis'to-cles  (B.  C.  5i4?-449?),  264,  267. 

The-oc'ri-tus  (fl.  270?),  303. 

Thrale,  Mrs.,  224. 

Thra-se'a  Paetus,  92,  101,  103,  121,  315. 

THBA-SV-ME'IVUS      (Tra-su-men'nus), 

33-  35.  38,  39.  5',  56.  58- 
Thu-cyd'i-des   (B.  C.   47i?-4oo?),    22,    66, 

172,  299. 
Ti-be'ri-us  (Caesar)  (42  B.  C.-37  A.  D.),  64, 

72,  77,  100,  107,  220. 
Ti-bul'lus  (B.  C.  65?-i9),  314,  316. 
Ti-gel-Ii'nus,  104,  106. 
Ti-tho'nus,  192,   194. 
Ti-tus  (40-81),  65,  68,  72-75. 
Town  and  Country  Mouse,  202-204. 
Tra-cha'li-o,  134-139. 
TRA'JAN  (52-117),  65,  316,  275,  276,  288, 

289,  290,  291. 
Trollope,  Anthony  (1815-1882),  247. 
Troy,  106,  228. 
Tus'cu-lum,  86,  241. 
Tul'lia,  243,  250. 
Tyler,  Moses  Coit  (living),  181. 

U-lys'ses,  183,  227. 

Va'ri-us,  211. 
Var'ro,  49-51. 
Vat'i-can,  93. 


Ve'nus,  129,  131,  132,  157,  log,  200,  229. 

Ver-gin'i-us  (or  Virginias),  Rufus,  282,  283. 

Ver'res,  236. 

Ves-pa'sian  (9-79),  65,  74,  75. 

Ve-su'vi-us,  275,  277. 

Vip-sta'nus,  Cai'us,  85. 

VIRGIL  (P.  Virgilius  Maro)  (B.  C.  70-19), 

14,  169, 173,  178-180,  184, 185,  212,  298,  302, 

303.  316. 
Vir'ro,  282. 
Vi-tel'li-us,  98. 
Vol-ca'tius,  249. 
Voi'taire  (1694-1778),  155. 
Vo-lu'sius,  Proc'u-lus,  108. 
Vo-lu'sius,  Quin'-tus,  83,  98. 

Washington  University  (St.  Louis),  126-7. 

Watson,  J.  S.,  242,  294. 

Webster,  Daniel  (1782-1852),  195,  272. 

Wellington,  Duke  of  (1769-1852),  103. 

Westminster  School,  126. 

Wise,  Rev.  John,  181. 

Wolsey  (Cardinal)  (1471-1530),  96,  221. 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850),  179,  191. 

Xen'-o-phon  (B.  C.  445?-355?),  32,  300. 
Xerx'es  (B.  C.  d.  465),  223. 

Za-ma,  60,  62,  225. 


THE  KND 


AFTER-SCHOOL  SERIES 

COMPKISING 

*   PREPARATORY  GREEK  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH 
**  PREPARATORY  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH 
***  COLLEGE  GREEK  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH 
****  COLLEGE  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH 


BY  WILLIAM  CLEAVER  WILKINSON. 


OPINIONS. 


Professor  HENRY  F.  BURTON,  Ph.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Latin 
in  the  University  of  Rochester,  says  [of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  Course  "]  : 

You  have  certainly  made  an  exceedingly  readable  book.  The  familiar 
gossippy  style  which  you  adopt,  and  the  numberless  little  digressions  and 
allusions  and  quotations  by  which  you  enliven  the  natural  dryness  of  the 
subject,  cannot  fail  to  fix  the  attention  of  both  youthful  and  adult  readers.  I 
am  sure,  too,  that  the  beginner  in  Latin  will  get  from  the  book  a  large 
amount  of  information  upon  the  authors  he  reads  wiiich  no  other  work,  and 
perhaps  no  teacher,  would  give  him,  and  what  is  more,  that  it  will  help 
greatly  to  give  life  and  reality  to  his  early  reading.  ...  As  one  interested 
in  the  advancement  of  Latin  studies,  I  thank  you. 

Professor  W.  S.  TYLER,  LL.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Greek  in 
Amherst  College,  says : 

Professor  Wilkinson  has  executed  with  sound  judgment,  much  learning, 
and  good  taste  the  difficult  task  of  giving  Preparatory  Greek  and  Latin 
Courses  in  English  to  those  who  are  unable  to  obtain  a  college  education. 
The  author  has  shown  his  good  sense  and  his  own  just  appreciation  of  clas- 
sical studies  by  not  professing  to  make  classical  scholars,  but  only  to  impart 
such  a  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin  literature  as  can  be  obtained  without 

1 


After-School  Series. 


U/iowingtlie  Greek  and  Latin  languages.  The  public  will  look  with  interest 
for  the  third  and  fourth  volumes  in  the  series,  which  are  to  contain  a  similar 
outline  of  College  Greek  and  College  Latin  for  English  readers. 

Miss  FRANCES  E.  LORD,  head  of  the  Department  of  Latin  in  Welles- 
ley  College,  says : 

Prof.  Wilkinson  has  certainly  succeeded  in  giving  the  English  reader  of 
the  Latin  Classics  a  volume  of  delightful  entertainment  and  much  valuable 
information.  Great  taste  and  judgment  have  been  shown  in  the  selections 
and  in  the  choice  of  the  translators,  while  the  running  commentary-  upon 
tliese,  at  once  so  lively  and  so  keen  in  its  analysis  of  characters  and  styles, 
will  prove  very  attractive  to  the  youthful  student. 

Professor  CHARLES  D.  MORRIS,  LL.D.,  of  Johns  Hopkins  University, 
says  [of  the  "  Preparatory  Greek"]  : 

I  think  that  the  book  is  as  a  whole  well  done,  and  that  it  will  be  read 
with  interest  and  profit,  not  only  by  persons  who  have  no  other  knowledge 
of  the  subject-matter,  but  also  by  those  who  may  wish  to  revive  in  an  easy 
way  knowledge  which  was  once  familiar,  but  has  been  allowed  to  drop 
more  or  less  out  of  remembrance. 

Rev.  HOWARD  CROSBY,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  late  Chancellor  of  the  University 
of  the  City  of  New  York,  says  [of  the  "  Greek  ''  volumes] : 

I  know  no  Sanscrit.  If  a  Sanscrit  scholar  should  give  me  in  English  a 
clear  view  of  the  Sanscrit  literature  in  its  style  and  spirit,  so  that  I  could  be 
familiar  with  it  in  all  its  relations  (saving  the  actual  acquaintance  with  the 
language),  I  should  be  greatly  benefited  and  delighted.  It  is  just  this 
grand  help  that  Professor  Wilkinson  has  given  to  the  enlightened  reader 
wiio  does  not  happen  to  know  the  Greek  language,  and  who  has  not  time  to 
acquire  it.  His  •'  Greek  Course  "  is  clear,  attractive,  and  judicious  in  its 
treatment  of  the  subject,  and  fills  a  valuable  place  in  our  literature. 

Professor  HENRY  DRISLER,  LL.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Greek  in 
Columbia  College,  and  American  Editor  of  Liddell  &  Scott's  Greek  Lex- 
icon, says : 

I  concur  in  the  main  in  Dr.  Crosby's  commendation  of  Professor  Wilkin- 
son's "Greek  Course." 

Professor  A.  C.  KENDRICK,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Greek 
in  the  University  of  Rochester,  says : 

The  plan  of  the  book  is  quite  unique,  yet  certainly  adapted  to  the  wants 
of  a  large  and  increasing  class  of  j'oung  persons  in  our  country.  Its  e.KC- 
cution  socms  to  me  very  felicitous  ;  it  is  marked  by  the  taste  and  scliolar- 
ship  which  were  to  be  expected  from  its  accomplished  author,     I  sincerely 


After-School  Series. 


liope,  and  I  can  scarcely  doubt,  that  it  will  prove  of  benefit  to  a  wide 
circle,  both  as  a  substitute  for,  and  as  an  aid  to,  the  ordinary  preparatory 
course  in  Greek. 

Professor  JAMES  R.  BOISE,  LL.D,,  formerly  head  of  the  Department  of 
Greek  in  the  University  of  Michigan,  says  : 

The  idea  of  the  work  is  original,  and  the  execution,  like  every  thing 
which  Professor  Wilkinson  undertakes,  is  excellent.  The  book  must  prove, 
in  more  ways  than  I  can  enumerate,  of  great  value  to  the  young  student. 

Again  [of  the  Preparatory  Latin] : 

I  shall  lose  no  opportunity  to  recommend  it. 

Professor  LEWIS  R.  PACKARD,  LL.D.,  late  head  of  the  Department  of 
Greek  in  Yale  College,  says : 

I  think  the  book  is  well  adapted  to  accomplish  the  end  at  which  it  aims. 
While  I  do  not  wholly  agree  with  all  the  author's  views,  I  think  he  has 
succeeded  in  conveying  correct  impressions  on  the  subjects  he  treats,  es- 
pecially in  matters  where  incorrect  impressions  are  too  often  current.  I 
should  say  the  book  would  be  useful  to  a  large  class  of  people. 

Professor  MARTIN  L.  D'OOGE,  LL.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Greek 
in  the  University  of  Michigan,  says : 

The  author,  it  will  be  observed,  guards  his  statement  from  the  erro- 
neous view  that  his  or  any  similar  effort  is  or  can  be  an  equivalent  for  the 
training  of  the  mind,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  literatures, 
to  be  gained  by  pursuing  a  college  course;  nor  does  the  book  anywhere 
convey  any  such  false  impression.  .  .  .  Professor  Wilkinson  gives  the 
readers  of  his  book  a  fair  and  interesting  view  of  the  Greek  people,  and  of 
some  of  their  great  writers,  and  incidentally  furnishes  a  good  deal  of  lit- 
erary criticism  and  information.  .  .  .  His  account  of  the  subject-matter  of 
the  Anabasis  is  especially  clear  and  satisfactory.  The  style  is  throughout 
bright  and  readable.  The  author  evidently  hopes  to  inspire  in  his  readers 
sufficient  interest  to  lead  them  to  read  and  study  Greek  life  and  letters  after 
they  shall  have  finished  his  introductory  course. 

Professor  W.  W.  GOODWIN,  LL.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Greek 
in  Harvard  College,  authorizes  us 

To  repeat  his  already  expressed  "  liigh  opinion  of  the  preparatory  works  " 
of  this  series,  and  to  anticipate  his  equally  cordial  approval  of  and  interest 
in  the  whole  as  completed. 

Professor  E.  S.  SHUMWAY,  Ph.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Latin  in 
Rutgers  College,  says : 

I  wish  that  I  could  induce  every  parent  in  the  land  to  put  that  book  into 
his  child's  hands  .  .  .  An  invaluable  service  to  the  cause  of  classical  culture. 

3 


After-School  Series. 


A  second  and  third  reading  only  confirms  my  judgment,  and  adds  to  the 
wish  that  my  early  Greek  teacher  had  possessed  such  an  aid. 

JOSEPH  CUMMINGS,  D.D.,  President  of  tlie  North-western  University, 
(Evanston,  111.,)  says: 

J  highly  recommend  it. 

S.  C.  BARTLETT,  D.D.,  President  of  Dartmouth  College,  says : 

It  seems  to  me  a  valuable  work,  highly  useful  and  instructive  to  a  large 
class  of  thoughtful  persons  who  cannot  have  access  to  the  originals,  and 
calculated  to  stimulate  and  expand  the  views  of  those  who  can. 

NOAH  PORTEB,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  President  of  Yale  College,  says : 

I  have  examined  with  some  care  the  volume  by  Professor  W.  C.  "Wilkin- 
son, entitled  "  Preparatory  Greek  Course  in  English,"  and  I  think  it  a  val- 
uable addition  to  the  abundant  apparatus  which  is  now  furnished  to  the 
young  student  of  the  one  language  of  which  no  aspirant  for  complete  cult- 
ure can  contentedly  remain  in  ignorance. 

JAMES  B.  ANGELL,  LL.D.,  President  of  the  University  of  Michigan, 

says: 

The  difficulty  of  bringing  one,  who  does  not  read  the  language  in  which 
a  hterature  is  written,  into  close  and  appreciative  and  vital  contact  with  the 
literature  is  very  great,  too  great  to  be  entirely  overcome.  But  you  have 
done  more  than  I  should  have  thought  possible  to  overcome  it.  I  have 
found  myself  thoroughly  interested  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  your 
book.  It  seems  to  me  that  most  readers  must  find  themselves  interested  in 
the  same  manner.     And  if  they  are  interested  they  must  be  profited. 

ALVAH  HOVEY,  D.D.,  President  of  Newton  Theological  Institution, 
says: 

In  these  latter  days  I  do  not  often  read  a  volume  through  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  without  omitting  a  chapter,  paragraph,  or  sentence.  But  I 
have  read  in  this  way  your  "  Preparatory  Greek  Course,"  simply  because  it 
is  so  instructive  and  captivating  a  volume  that  T  could  not  persuade  myself 
to  pass  over  any  word  of  it  unread. 

M.  B.  ANDERSON,  LL.D.,  President  of  the  University  of  Rochester, 
says: 

It  seems  to  me  that  your  purpose  is  most  excellent,  and  the  skill  with 
which  you  have  accomplished  it  is  all  that  could  be  desired.  The  work 
will  be  useful,  not  only  to  those  for  whom  it  was  specially  written,  but  also 
to  young  persons  in  a  course  of  classical  study  in  the  academy  or  college. 


After-School  Series. 


E.  G.  ROBINSON,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  President  of  Brown  TJniversity,  says : 

Will  undoubtedly  do  a  good  service,  enabling  intelligent  readers  who  are 
unacquainted  with  Greek  to  attain  some  definite  conception  of  the  literature 
of  that  language,  as  well  as  enlightening  and  quickening  into  intellectual 
life  many  a  student  who  otherwise  might  know  little  or  nothing,  beyond 
his  mere  lesson,  of  the  book  he  was  reading. 

Hon.  FRANCIS  WAYLAND,  LL.D,  Dean  of  the  Law  Department  of 
Yale  College,  says : 

I  have  examined  with  great  interest  the  "Preparatory  Greek  Course  in 
English,"  by  Professor  Wilkinson. 

The  object  aimed  at  seems  to  me  most  praiseworthy,  and  it  is  accomplished 
in  a  maimer  in  keeping  with  the  design.  I  do  not  believe  that  it  will 
diminish  the  number  of  those  studying  the  original  Greek,  while  it  will  cer- 
tainly cultivate  a  knowledge  and  love  of  the  spirit  of  the  great  Greek  clas- 
sics among  those  who,  but  for  the  aid  of  such  a  crutch,  would  never  have 
walked  over  the  "  plains  of  windy  Troy,"  or  in  "  the  olive  grove  of 
Academe." 

I  shall  be  surprised  if  it  does  not  reach  a  very  wide  circulation. 

F.  B.  PALMER,  Ph.D.,  Principal  of  the  State  Normal  School-,  Fredonia, 
N.  Y.,  says : 

It  seems  to  mo  admirably  adapted  to  give  young  students  a  liking  for  old 
authors  who  will  be  ever  young,  and  it  adds  a  completeness  of  view  which 
few  young  persons  can  get  by  a  study  of  the  ancient  authors  in  the  origi- 
nal, or  even  in  the  best  translations. 

Rev.  J.  H.  VINCENT,  D.D.,  Superintendent  of  Instruction,  C.  L.  S.  C, 
says : 

I  have  just  finished,  for  my  own  instruction,  reading  your  "  Preparatory 
Greek  Course  in  English."  My  dear  doctor,  that  book  is  simply  magnifi- 
cent. It  is  a  complete  success  in  every  way,  and  I  read  it  with  the  great- 
est enthusiasm. 

T.  J.  MORGAN,  D.D.,  Principal  of  the  State  Normal  School,  Providence, 
R.  I.,  says: 

An  admirable  book,  unique  and  happy  in  design,  and  well  executed. 
I  wi.sh  I  might  have  had  it  while  pursuing  my  classical  studies  in  college. 

S.  L.  CALDWELL,  D.D.,  President  of  Vassar  College,  says  : 

As  the  idea  is  capital,  the  execution  is  equally  good.  The  wliole  book 
shows  ample  knowledge  and  good  taste,  and  is  far  enough  from  any  dullness 
such  as  infects  some  books  of  this  kind.  Any  intelligent  person,  and  even 
one  well  read  in  Greek,  may  read  it  to  find  it  stimulating  and  instructive. 


After-School  Series. 


Again  [of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  "] : 

I  find  it  very  interesting  reading. 

Eev.  GEORGE  D.  B.  PEPPER,  D.D.,  President  of  Colby  University, 
says: 

It  is  well  fitted  to  stimulate  to  a  thorough  Greek  scholarship,  and  equally 
fitted  to  serve  an  admirable  purpose  for  those  who  can  never  study  tlie 
Greek. 

Again  [of  the  Preparatory  Latin  "]  : 

Not  till  tliis  very  morning  have  1  completed  its  perusal.  I  have  been 
unable  to  content  myself  with  any  omissions. 

S.  A.  ELLIS,  Ph.D.,  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction,  Rochester, 
N.  Y.,  says : 

A  somewhat  critical  examination  of  the  entire  luork  fully  confirms  the 
favorable  impression  I  formed  at  the  first  reading.  .  .  .  Tlie  book  will  be 
found  to  be  both  scholarly  and  popular — two  qualities  often  divorced  from 
each  other.  ...  I  am  confident  tliat  whoever  begins  "The  Preparatory 
Greek  Course  in  English  "  will  read  it  througli  to  the  end,  and  will  look 
with  eager  expectancy,  as  I  sliall,  for  the  other  volumes  that  are  to  follow. 

Subsequently:  In  our  estimation  it  grows  better  and  better. 

Professor  W.  F.  ALLEN,  Professor  of  Latin  in  the  University  of  "Wis- 
consin, says: 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  better  adapted  to  give  non-classical  readers  a 
notion  of  what  classical  literature  is  than  any  other  book  with  which  I  am 
acquainted.     I  shall  look  with  interest  for  the  succeeding  volumes. 

Again  [of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  "] : 

I  will  only  reiterate  in  general  wliat  I  said  then  in  relation  to  the  new 
book. 

Rev.  A.  P.  PEABODY,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  late  of  Harvard  University,  says: 

I  have  looked  tiirough  Mr.  Wilkinson's  "Preparatory  Greek  Course  in 
English,"  and  am  prepared  to  give  it  my  warmest  commendation.  It  sup- 
plies a  need  which  is  more  and  more  felt  from  year  to  year,  for  two  reasons, 
one  for  which  I  rejoice,  the  higher  standard  of  culture  that  prevails  in  so- 
ciety at  large;  the  other,  inevitable,  yet  to  me  a  subject  of  regret,  the 
diminishing,  disposition  on  the  part  of  well-educated  people  to  study  the 
classical  languages. 

C.  K.  ADAMS,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  History  in  the  University  of  Michi- 
gan, says : 

I  found  almost  notliing  to  criticise.  I  cannot  conscientiously  say  loss 
than  that  you  have  written  an  excellent  book  on  a  difficult  subject.     I  could 


After-School  Series. 


not  commend  your  book,  if  I  thoiiglit  it  would  be  deemed  a  substitute  for 
studios  in  the  Greek  language.  But  it  seems  to  me  well  calculated  to 
sharpen  the  appetite  instead  of  satisfying  it.  Your  accounts  of  the  larger 
works  are  admirable.  In  short,  the  book  as  a  whole  is  remarkably  well 
adapted  to  tempt  the  reader  to  a  further  acquaintance  with  Greek  litera- 
ture and  life.  Aud  this  is  saying  much ;  for,  in  these  busy  and  distracting 
times,  education  is  apt  to  drift  away  from  tlie  safe  anchorage  of  the  classics, 
and  whatever  tends  to  hold  it  to  its  moorings  performs  a  service  for  which 
all  scholars  should  be  grateful. 

Professor  HENRY  S.  FRIEZE,  LL.D.,  head  of  the  Department  of  Latin 
in  the  University  of  Michigan,  says  : 

I  have  been  delighted  with  the  perusal  of  your  critical  notices,  your  own 
translations,  and  your  selections  of  the  translations  of  others,  and  I  sincerely 
congratulate  you  on  the  admirable  style  in  which  you  have  presented  the 
matter  itself,  as  well  as  on  the  character  of  the  matter  itself,  and  the  plan  of 
the  whole  work. 

Again  [of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  "] : 

It  cannot  fail  to  do  good  in  opening  a  new  world  of  thought  and  expression 
to  those  who  have  no  access  to  it  through  the  Latin  originals,  and  in  thus 
enlarging  the  circle  of  readers  and  scholars  interested  in  classical  literature. 
I  trust  nothing  will  interrupt  your  plan  of  adding  more  advanced  works  of  a 
similar  kind  to  the  series.  They  will  together  form  a  valuable  contribution 
to  the  history  of  classical  literature. 

Professor  F.  S.  CAPEN,  of  Colby  University,  says : 

Having  studied  Greek  under  Professor  "Wilkinson,  I  have,  by  a  most  de- 
lightful experience,  a  personal  knowledge  of  his  thorough  classical  culture  and 
his  ability  to  interest  tiie  learner.  I  should  have  felt  perfectly  safe  in  rec- 
ommending, without  reserve,  his  "After-School  Series "  without  seeing  it. 
Having  seen  the  numbers  alread}^  published,  I  find  them  all  that  could  be 
desired. 

The  "  Nation  "  says 

Of  all  the  devices  for  introducmg  non-classical  readers  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  ancient  classics,  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  Mr.  "Wilkinson's  (or 
Dr.  Vincent's,  for  to  him  the  compiler  give^  the  credit  of  the  idea)  is  the 
most  effective.  It  is  to  proceed  on  the  course  the  classical  student  himself 
follows:  to  make  the  reader  acquainted  first  with  the  land,  then  with  the 
people,  then  (but  this  is,  perhaps,  a  mistake)  to  give  a  peep  at  the  language, 
and  follow  it  up  with  a  few  fables,  a  dialogue  of  Lucian,  and  enough  of 
Xenophon  and  Homer  to  make  him  tolerably  familiar  with  them.  After  an 
introduction  like  this — and  it  really  gives  one  a  higher  respect  for  our  pre- 

7- 


After-School  Series. 


paratory  course  to  see  how  effeclive  it  is — tlie  reader  will  be  able  to  take 
hold  of  Sophocles,  Plato,  and  Demosthenes  with  a  much  better  understand- 
ing. .  .  .  We  think  we  may  safely  predict  that  tlie  four  volumes  will  present 
a  unique  and  very  satisfactory  view  of  ancient  hterature  for  nou-classical 
readers. 

Again : 

The  "Preparatory  Latin  Course  in  Enghsh"  is  a  companion  to  the  "Pre- 
paratory Greek  Course  "  of  the  same  editor,  which  we  noticed  a  few  months 
ago.  It  has  the  same  general  character,  and  the  same  excellences  in  execu- 
tion, while  it  shows  a  readier  and  more  experienced  hand. 

Again : 

Professor  "Wilkinson  makes  rapid  progress  with  his  "  After-School  Series," 
and  we  are  inclined  to  rate  his  last  published  volume,  "  College  Greek 
Course  in  English,"  as  the  best  of  the  three  that  have  appeared. 

The  "Westminster  Review  "  (October,  1884)  says: 

Popular  works  of  this  kind  ["  College  Greek  Course  in  English  "],  so  far 
from  degrading  classical  literature,  or  making  the  ignorant  fancy  that  they 
have  the  key  to  all  knowledge,  are  genuine  cultivators  of  the  public  taste. 

The  "  Independent "  says  : 

Whatever  doubts  one  may  have  on  the  start  as  to  the  gain  for  sound 
learning  in  the  numerous  attempts  to  popularize  it  in  manuals  or  in  summer 
schools,  "  Where  the  Attic  bird  trills  her  thick- warbled  notes  the  summer 
long,"  he  must  lay  them  aside,  as  we  do,  on  examining  William  Cleaver  Wil- 
kinson's "Preparatory  Greek  Course  in  English."  It  aims  at  the  very  end 
which  seems  of  such  questionable  utility  to  many  of  us,  to  give  a  kind  of 
Greek  education  in  English  to  persons  who  cannot  get  it  in  Greek.  We 
have  examined  the  book  with  unusual  care,  and  with  our  doubts  hovering 
near  as  to  the  question  whether  this  were  not  another  attempt  to  acquire 
the  French  language  in  English,  or  to  achieve  something  else  without 
achieving  it.  But  our  doubts  are  laid.  There  is  a  large  class  of  people 
who  will  find  this  book  exceedingly  useful,  and  we  hardly  venture  to  say 
just  how  large  we  think  the  class  is  who  need  not  be  ashamed  to  make  use 
of  it.  .  .  . 

The  "  Literary  "World  "  (Boston)  says : 

A  bright  and  useful  book.  .  .  .  The  author  acts  as  a  personal  instructor, 
and  takes  the  pupil  into  his  confidence,  who  thus  gains  much  of  the  inspira- 
tion which  is  usually  to  be  had  only  from  the  living  teacher.  .  .  .  The  ac- 
counts of  great  writers  are  excellent,  and  the  selections  from  their  works 
are  admirably  chosen,  the  chapter  comparing  the  various  translations  of 
Homer  being  particularly  suggestive. 


8 


After-School  Series. 


Again : 

Tlie  first  volume  of  this  unique  series  had  our  liearty  commendation,  and 
tlie  appenrancc  of  the  second  only  confirms  our  favorable  judgiiicut.  Tlio 
books  will  have,  as  they  deserve,  a  wide  popularity. 

The  "  Latine  "  says  : 

One  of  tlie  most  valuable  books  for  promoting  the  study  of  Greek  that 
have  yet  been  issued  in  this  country.  ...  Of  value  not  only  to  tlio  beginner 
in  Greek,  but  also  to  the  parent  who  wishes  to  aid  his  boy  or  girl,  and  to 
the  teacher  who  would  help  without  weakening  the  student. 

The  "  American  Eural  Home,"  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  says : 

So  clear,  so  fresh,  so  learned,  and  yet  so  simple  is  his  presentation,  so 
discursive  often  and  so  happy  altogether,  that  one  reads  it  as  if  it  were 
romance,  until,  reading  it  thoroughly,  one  may  know  nearly  as  much  of  the 
thre*  Greek  works  most  familiar  as  the  college  graduate  knows.  It  is 
such  a  book  as  it  seems  somebody  should  have  given  us  long  ago,  and  yet 
just  such  a  book  as  no  one,  we  suspect,  but  Dr.  Wilkinson  could  have 
made. 

The  "  Baptist  Quarterly  Review  "  says : 

The  author  is  correct  in  supposing  that  there  are  many,  some  in  unsus- 
pected quarters,  who  will  gladly  welcome  such  a  volume. 

.  .  .  The  common  people  will  read  it  gladly,  while  many  a  college  graduate 
may,  by  its  perusal,  add  so  muck  to  his  knowledge  of  Xenophon,  Homer, 
etc.,  as  to  suggest  that  he  is  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  forming  new  acquaint- 
ances among  interesting  people. 

The  "  Examiner  "  (New  York)  says : 

It  is  not  often  that  a  man  of  Dr.  Wilkinson's  literary  ability  gives  him- 
self to  the  work  of  enlightening  the  masses.  If  such  men  allow  their  names 
to  appear  on  the  title-pages  of  popular  books,  the  bulk  of  the  work  is  gen- 
erally performed  by  men  of  inferior  ability.  But  here  we  have  a  popular 
book  prepared  by  a  writer  of  first-rate  ability,  and  we  are  assured  that  ho 
has  given  to  the  making  of  it  his  best  thought  and  skill.  .  .  .  The  introduc- 
tory remarks  on  Homer  are  particularly  good.  Take  a  fcw  sentences:  .  .  . 
We  trust  that  no  one  of  our  readers  will  do  himself  the  injustice  of  failing 
to  read  this  book. 

Again: 

.  .  .  The  second  has  all  the  merits  of  the  first,  and  in  a  considerably  higher 
degree.  .  .  .  The  attentive  reader  of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  Course  in  En- 
glish "  will  have  a  fiir  more  adequate  idea  of  Latin  literature  than  is  ac- 
quired by  the  average  student  previous  to  matriculation  in  college.  .  .  . 


After-Scho©l  Series. 


The  long  chapt'=^r  on  "  The  City  and  tho  People  "  wo  think  unsurpassed  in 
English  historical  literature  as  regards  philosophical  insight,  grandeur,  and 
sustained  eloquence. 

The  "  Methodist  Quarterly  Eeview  "  says : 

The  writer  gives  frank  credit  to  Dr.  Vincent  for  the  origination  of  tho 
idea  of  this  volume,  as  well  as  ample  suggestions  in  its  production ;  and 
the  compliment  might  be  reciprocated  that  he  has  filled  out,  and  more  than 
filled  out,  the  programme  with  eminent  ability  and  success.  ...  It  furnislies 
to  the  young  student  a  clear  idea  of  what  he  is  gouig  about.  ...  In  tlie 
olden  time  his  Latin  grammar  was  put  into  his  hands,  then  his  manual  of 
selections,  with  dictionary,  then  his  Virgil,  and  he  plodded  like  a  miner  cut- 
ting a  tunnel  through  a  rock.  A  book  like  this  would  have  thrown  an  11- 
himination  around  his  path,  revealing  to  him  where  he  was,  and  what  the 
surroundings  of  the  route  he  was  obliged  to  pursue.  Mr.  Wilkinson  has 
done  his  work  in  the  best  manner,  varjing  his  style  through  a  variety  of 
changes,  now  cheerily  colloquial,  now  running  an  even  level,  and  anon  ilsing 
with  graceful  ease  into  a  strain  of  lofty  eloquence. 

The  "  Canadian  Uethodist  Magazine  "  says: 

Designed  to  give  the  English  reader  some  such  knowledge  of  classic  lit- 
erature as  the  college  graduate  obtains  through  the  original  text.  We  vent- 
ure to  say  that  in  many  cases  it  will  be  a  superior  knowledge. 

"  Zion's  Hsrald  "  says : 

The  idea  is  a  capital  one,  and  is  executed  with  rare  skill. 

The  "  Advance  "  (Chicago)  says : 

...  To  take  up  this  book  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  iEschylus  or  Aris- 
tophanes, in  a  smooth  translation,  will  bring  back  for  a  moment  a  faint 
glow  of  youth,  and,  like  Dido,  we  recognize  the  vestigia  flammce.  Professor 
Wilkinson  has  done  his  work  well.  He  has  shown  himself  alert  for  the 
best  translations,  and  the  notes  and  illustrations  are  yaluable  aids  to  the 
student. 

The  "  Nashville  Christian  Advocate  "  says  : 

These  books  afford  the  best  possible  substitute  for  college  culture  in 
Greek  and  Latin. 

The  "  Standard  "  (Chicago)  says  : 

The  author  of  those  books  is  a  trnincd  scholar  and  writer.  He  knows 
what  is  essential,  and  what  not,  in  st4idy  of  the  sort  here  undertaken. 

The  "  Intelligencer  "  (New  York)  says: 

A  worthy  end  admirably  attained. 

10 


After-School  Series. 


The  Methodist  Quarterly  Review  (South)  says : 

There  is  little  doubt  that  the  majority  of  pupils  would  become  better 
ai^quainted  with  the  thought,  if  not  the  st3'le,  of  the  cla.ssical  authors  by 
reading  carefully  the  book  under  review  than  they  do  at  present  by  their 
labored  efforts  of  translating  a  page  or  two  a  day.  As  even  the  graduates 
of  our  colleges  cannot  compass  the  whole  range  of  Greek  and  Latin  authors, 
and  but  few  entire  works  of  any  autnor,  this  series  is  worthy  of  their  at- 
tention as  well  as  that  of  the  persons  who  have  never  entered  college.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Wilkinson's  series  is  worthy  of  all  commendation. 

The  "  Interior  "  (Chicago)  says: 

"While  the  volume  will  certainly  prove  eminently  useful  in  the  line  for 
which  it  was  originally  intended,  it  will  just  as  certainly  have  strong  attrac- 
tions for  general  literary  students  and  readers  of  all  classes — for  those  who 
have  read,  or  have  imdertaken  to  read,  these  authors  in  their  original  Greek, 
as  well  as  for  those  who  have  done  neither. 

The  "  Sunday-School  Journal"  says: 

M:iny  a  college  graduate  will  get  more  idea  of  what  Herodotus  and  Plato 
and  Sophocles  have  really  written  by  the  reading  of  this  book  for  one  day 
than  they  received  during  tiieir  whole  college  course. 

The  "  Western  Christian  Advocate  "  says  [of  the  "  Preparatory  Latin  "] : 

This  work  cannot  be  too  highly  commended. 

The  "  Christian  Union"  says : 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  examine  so  careful  and  conscientious  a  piece  of  schol- 
arly workmanship  as  Professor  \V.  C.  "Wilkinson's  ''  Preparatory  Latin 
Course  in  English."  Perhaps  nothing  better  can  be  said  of  it  than  that 
it  is  worthy  to  take  its  place  with  its  companion  volume,  the  "  Preparatory 
Greek  Course  in  English." 

A  brief  and  yet  thoroughly  trustworthy  presentation  of  the  literature  and 
thought  of  a  great  nation  is  a  work  which  demands  thoroughgoing  scholar- 
ship and  a  trained  literary  instinct.  In  this  volume  Professor  "Wilkinson 
shows  ample  competency  for  the  task  which  he  had  imposed  upon  himself, 
and  the  result  is  a  book  which  can  be  commended  without  qualification  to 
all  those  who  desire  to  familiarize  themselves  with  the  Roman  people  in 
their  intellectual  achievements.  It  is  a  work  of  great  interest  as  well  .is 
of  great  power  of  instruction,  since  it  deals  not  with  the  isolated  mental  life 
of  the  people,  but  with  that  life  as  it  stands  related  to  character,  to  history, 
and  to  the  world-wide  extension  of  Roman  rule.  Professor  Wilkinson  has 
succeeded,  in  a  word,  in  sketching,  with  a  bold,  free,  and  sure  hand,  the 
outlines  of  the  mental  and  moral  life  of  one  of  the  great  dominant  races  of 
antiquity. 

11 


After-School  Series. 


The  "  Atlantic  Monthly  "  says : 

Writes  with  liveliness  and  with  <a  manifest  determination  that  the  reader 
shall  find  the  Greek  writers  as  human  and  as  interesting  as  English  or 
American  ones. 

The  "  Louisiana  Journal  of  Education  "  says : 

Iligli-schools  and  academies  in  which  Greek  is  taught  should  be  furnished 
with  a  copy  of  this  admirable  work  for  the  benefit  of  their  pupils  and 
classes.  The  analysis  of  Homer's  Iliad,  illustrated  by  quotations  from  the 
best  translators,  may  be  read  with  interest,  even  by  scholars  sufBciently  ad- 
vanced to  comprehend  and  enjoy  the  original. 

The  "  Visitor  and  Teacher  "  (Kirksville,  Mo.)  says : 

We  have  read  many  of  our  best  novels  and  found  none  more  thoroughly 
enjoyable,  from  first  to  last,  than  this  work,  and  would  unhesitatingly  recom- 
mend it  to  all  lovers  of  good  literature. 

Professor  MOSES  COIT  TYLER,  LL.D.  (Cornell  University),  says: 

I  have  just  been  looking  over  your  book,  with  real  delight  in  the  ingenioua 
and  simple  plan  of  it,  and  in  its  felicitous  execution. 

EDMUND  CLAEENCE  STEDMAN  says : 

In  the  seclusion  that  this  island  grants  I  have  had  a  chance  to  enjoy  the 
volume  quite  thoroughly.  In  fact,  I  have  read  pretty  much  all  of  it.  .  .  . 
Your  presentation  of  Plato,  Aristophanes,  and  Demosthenes  struck  me  as 
being  peculiarly  apt  and  instinctive. 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON  says  : 

Y'our  book  I  have  read  with  much  pleasure.  ...  In  speaking  of  Aris- 
tophanes I  think  you  do  not  render  justice  to  his  poetic  beauty,  especially 
to  the  "Birds,"  wliich  is  the  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  of  antiquity.  .  .  . 
I  know  that  there  are  many  wlio  will  be  grateful  for  just  such  a  book. 

"WILLIAM  C.  CONANT,  in  "  Vidi  Correspondence,"  speaks 

Of  the  rich  classic  tone  with  which  Professor  Wilkinson's  own  style  and 
substance  are  so  delightfully  penetrated,  while  so  free,  so  humorous,  shrewd, 
and  American. 

JOSEPH  COOK  says : 

Breathes  the  true  Ilellenic  spirit. 

Mr.  SPUEGEON  says : 

Bright  and  vivacious. 

12 


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THE  CHAUTAUQUA   PRESS. 

In  order  to  create  a  permanent  library  of  useful  and  standard  books  for  tbe  homes  of 
our  C.  L.  S.  C.  members,  and  to  reduce  the  expense  of  the  Seal  courses,  we  have  organ- 
ized the  Chautauqua  Press. 

The  first  issues  of  the  Chautauqua  Press  will  be  "  The  Garnet  Series,"  four  vol- 
umes in  the  general  line  of  the  "  required  readings  "  for  the  coming  year,  as  follows:  — 

READINGS    FROM    RUSKIN. 

With  an  Introduction  by  II.  A.  Beers,  Professor  of  English  Literature 
in  Yale  College. 

This  volume  contains  chapters  from  Raskin  on  "  The  Poetry  of  Architecture,"  "  The 
Cottage — English,  French,  and  Italian,"  "  The  Villa — ItaUan,"  and  "  St.  Mark's,"  from 
"  Stones  of  Venice." 

READINGS    FROM    MACAULAY. 

With  an  Introduction  by  Donald  G.  Mitchell  ("  Ik  Marvel  ") 

This  volume  contains  Lord  Macaulay's  Essays  on  "  Dante,"  "  Petrarch,"  and  "  Machi- 
avelli,"  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  and  "  Pompeii." 

ART,    AND   THE   FORMATION    OF 
TASTE. 

By  Lucy  Crane.    With  an  Introduction  by  Charles  G.  Whiting  of 
"  The  Springfield  [Mass.]  Republican." 

This  volume  contains  lectures  on  "  Decorative  Art,  Form,  Color,  Dress,  and  Needle- 
work," "  Fine  Arts,"  "  Sculpture,"  "  Architecture,"  "  Paintmg." 

THE   LIFE   AND  WORKS    OF    MICHAEL 
ANGELO. 

By  R.  Duppa  [Bohn's  Edition].     With  an  Introduction  by  Charles  G. 

Whiting. 


Any  graduate  or  undergraduate  of  the  C.  L.  S.  C.  reading  the  four  volumes  of  the 
Chautauqua  Library  Garnet  Series  will  be  entitled  to  the  new  Garnet  Seal  (Univer- 
sity Seal)  on  his  diploma. 

These  volumes  are  designed  as  much  for  the  general  market  as  for  members  of  the 
C.  L.  S.  C,  and  will  form  the  nucleus  of  a  valuable  library  of  standard  literature. 


Price  of  each  volume,  75  cents;  or  $3  for  the  set,  enclosed 
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